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KNOWLES'S 

ELOCUTIONIST; 

A 

FIRST-CLASS RHETORICAL READER 

AND RECITATION BOOK. 



CONTAINING . 

THE ONLY ESSENTIAL PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION, DIREC- 
TIONS FOR MANAGING THE VOICE, ETC., SIMPLIFIED 
AND EXPLAINED ON A NOVEL PLAN. 



NUMEROUS PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 

DESIGNED FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES. 

BY JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES, 

Author of " Virginius," " William Tell," " The Hunchback," &c. 

ALTERED AND ADAPTED TO THE PURPOSES OF INSTRUCTION IN THE 

UNITED STATES 

BY EPES SARGENT. 

NEW YORK : 
JAMES MOWATT & CO. 174 BROADWAY. 

SOLD ALSO BY ALL PERIODICAL AGENTS AND BOOKSELLERS. 



.Kfe 



[Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, by EPKS 
SARGENT, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the Sou. 
them District of the state of New- York j 









Douglas > Typographer, 34 Ann St. 

Hobbs. Stertotvper, 111 Fuit >n St, 

Bedford, P&jnter, I3S Fulton St. 



PREFACE 

BY THE AMERICAN EDITOR. 



The essential rules of elocution are few and simple. 
Nothing can be more unprofitable and useless than most 
of the complicate treatises that have been written on the 
subject. As well might we manufacture a great poet 
through the aid of the rules of Aristotle, as an accomplish- 
ed speaker by initiation into the mysteries of " intensive 
slides," "absolute emphatic stress," "penultimate pauses," 
and the whole arbitrary nomenclature, which has been 
introduced into some of our rhetorical school-books. 
Goethe says : 

u Reason and honest feeling want no arts 
Of utterance — ask no toil of elocution ; 
If feeling does not prompt, in vain you strive 5 
If from the soul the language does not come, 
By its own impulse, to impel the hearts 
Of hearers, with communicated power, 
In vain you strive — in vain you study earnestly ! M 

How true is all this ! And yet, in some of our books 
of selections for reading in schools, we have " a key-, of 
rhetorical notation" attached to the pieces, informing the 
reader when to raise his voice and when to lower it— 



VI 

when to enunciate quickly and when slowly — when to 
assume a severe and when a plaintive tone. The effect 
of a slavish adherence to such instructions, must be fatal to 
the development of all original power in the pupil ; and 
the system itself cannot but often seem tedious and im- 
pertinent to the teacher. 

" I am convinced/ ' says Mr. Knowles, " that a nice at« 
tention to rhetorical punctuation, has an extremely mis- 
chievous tendency, and is totally inconsistent with nature. 
Give the sense of what you read — mind is the thing. 
Pauses are essential only where the omission would 
obscure the sense. The orator, who, in the act of deliver- 
ing himself, is studiously solicitous about parcelling his 
words, is sure to leave the best part of his work undone. 
He delivers words, not thoughts. Deliver thoughts, and 
words will take care enough of themselves." 

In the present work we have given the Principles of 
Elocution and the Theory of Inflection, simplified and 
divested of all unnecessary complexity. In addition to 
our obligations to Mr. Knowles, in the preparation of this 
introductory matter, we owe a debt of acknowledgment 
to Mr. Alexander Bell, of London, Professor of Elocution, 
from whose Practical Elocutionist, recently published, we 
have borrowed many useful hints. An excellent work 
from the press of W. and R. Chambers, of Edinburgh, 
entitled " Principles of Elocution, by William Graham, 
Teacher of Elocution," has also supplied us with many 
judicious suggestions. Indeed, all the available instruc- 
tion in the art of reading and speaking, which, in the 
opinion of the best elocutionary teachers of the present 
day in Europe, it is deemed possible to convey by means 
of written rules, has been. compressed into our introduc- 
tory analysis. 



Vll 

When we originally selected Mr. Knowles's " Elocu- 
tionist" for re-publication, it was with the intention of 
putting it forth with but few additions and alterations of 
our own. But, on a more mature examination, we found 
that so much that was more appropriate to the tastes and 
wants of American youth might be substituted, that we 
determined to remodel the work entirely, retaining the 
name, the general plan, and such a portion of the selec- 
tions, as were of universal interest and perpetual value. 
If the reader therefore finds many of those unsurpassed 
and ever-favourite, though familiar models of elocution, in- 
terspersed through the volume, he will also find, that more 
than two-thirds of the contents consist of pieces, that have 
never before enriched any elocutionary collection. 

The work is now respectfully submitted to the attention 
of teachers throughout the United States, in the confident 
belief that it will be found a useful and congenial auxiliary 
in the task of elocutionary instruction — that the moral 
character of the pieces is throughout blameless and pure 
— and that the essential Principles of Elocution are ex- 
plained in a manner at once simple, concise and explicit. 

We cannot more appropriately conclude our observa- 
tions than in the language of Mr. Knowles : " Having thus 
briefly stated the grounds upon which the superiority of 
this edition is founded, the compiler remarks, that, not- 
withstanding the attention which he has bestowed upon 
the Introduction, he would be far from recommending to 
the student a slavish attention to system. Nothing should 
be allowed to supersede Nature. Let her, therefore, stand 
in the foreground. The reader abuses his art, who betrays, 
by his delivery, that he enunciates by rule. Emotion is 
the thing. One flush of passion upon the cheek — one 
beam of feeling from the eye — one thrilling note of sensi- 



Vlll 



bility from the tongue — one stroke of hearty emphasis from 
the arm — have a thousand times the value of the most mas- 
terly exemplification of all the rules, that all the rhetori- 
cians, of both ancient and modern times, have given us, 
for the government of the voice — when that exemplifica- 
tion is unaccompanied by such adjuncts. 

" The compiler has not attached to this collection any 
system of pronunciation ; as pronunciation is better, be- 
cause more amply, taught in dictionaries. 

" He has also differed from all his predecessors, in not 
attempting to give a description of the principal passions ; 
and for this plain reason — No man who really feels a pas- 
sion can err in his delineation of it ; and he concludes 
these few preliminary remarks, with one brief recommen- 
dation, which he conceives to include all that is essential 
in delivery Be in earnest." 

New- York, 1844. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Principles of Elocution, 15 

I. Articulation, 16 

II. Inflection and Modulation, 17 

Table of Inflections, i 19 

Exercises on the Inflections, 21 

Modulation, 22 

Examples, 23 

Shift of the Voice, 26 

Imitative Modulation, '. ..•..»• 28 

Pauses, .... 29 

III. Emphasis, 30 

IV. Gesture, .......... 32 

General Rules, 34 

Interrogation, 34 

Exclamation, . . . 36 

Compact Sentence, 37 

Negative Sentence, 38 

Concession, . 39 

Parenthesis, 40 

Series, . 41 

Commencing Series, . . . . • . . . .41 

Concluding Series, 42 

Emphasis, . 43 

CJimax, 45 

Anti-Climax, 46 

Echo, or Repetition, A 46 

Circumflex, « . . 47 

Monotone, . 47 

Examples Marked in Accordance with the Rules, . . 48 

The Earth, 48 

Health, 49 

^ The Tongue, 49 

The Departed Spirits of the Just are Spectators of our Conduct 

on Earth, 50 

On Study, 51 

Character of Mary, Queen of Scots, .... 52 

Brethren should dwell together in Harmony, ... 53 



CONTENTS. 



LESSONS IN PROSE. 

The names of American writers are in small capitals. 

Lesson Page 

1. Future Prospects of the American Continent, 

Encyclopedia Britannica. 55 

2. Human Progress, Chapin. 57 

3. Damon and Pythias, . . Brooke. 59 

4. On the Abuse of Genius, with reference to the Works of Lord 

Byron, Knowles. 62 

8. Against the American War, .... Lord Chatham. 68 

9. Reply to the Duke of Grafton, .... Lord Thurlow. 71 

10. Speech in Favour of the War of the Revolution, Patrick Henry. 72 

11. Supposed Speech of John Adams in favour of signing the De- 

claration of Independence, D. Webster. 74 

12. Character of Napoleon Bonaparte, . . . Channing. 77 

13. Character of Washington, .... Lord Brougham. 79 
17. Eloquence and Logic. From an Eulogy on H. S. Legare, of 

South Carolina, W. C. Preston. 84 

21. A Christian viewing Death, Dewey. 91 

22. In favour of acknowledging the Independence of Greece, 

Henry Clay. 92 

24. In favour of the American Revolution, . Josiah Quincy. 96 

25. Dignity of Human Nature Dewey. 98 

26. An Exhortation to the Study of Eloquence, . . Cicero. 99 

29. The Lumberer's Story— A Forest on Fire, . J. J. Audubon. 102 

30. The Heavenly Bodies, Chalmers. 105 

31. The Same Subject continued, .... Chalmers. 108 

32. The true Source of Reform, . . . . . Ciiapin. 1 10 
34. Employment of Winter Evenings by the Young, Prentice. 112 

37. Character of Pitt, Grattan. 116 

38. Apostrophe to the Queen of France, .... Burke. 118 

39. Story of the Siege of Calais, Brooke. 119 

40. The same Story continued, Brooke. 121 

42. America and Ireland, C. Phillips. 127 

43. Tribute to Washington, C. Phillips. 129 

44.#Defence of the Puritans, . . . T. B. Macaulay. 131 

46. The Seenitnd the Unseen, .... Ephraim Peabody. 134 

48. Danger of Prematurely Tasking the Mental Powers of the 

Young, A. Brigham. 139 

49. Early History of Kentucky, . . . . N. A. Review. 142 

50. The Fall of Napoleon, C. Phillips. 144 

54. Byron and his Poetry, T.B. Macaulay. 150 $ , 

55. Origin of the French Revolution, . . . Channing. 153 

59. Our Obligations as American Citizens, . . D. Webster. 158 

60. In Favour of Permitting the Return of the British 

Refugees, Patrick Henry. 160 



CONTENTS. XI 

Lesson Page 

62. Eulogistic of Adams and Jefferson, . Edward Everett. 163 

63. In Commemoration of the Completion of the Bunker-Hill 

Monument, D. Webster. 164 

66. Fulton and His Invention, . . . Mr. Justice Story. 170 

67. On being Installed Rector of the University of Glas- 

gow, . . .. . «. . Lord Brougham. 171 

70. Commemorative of the First Settlement of New Eng- 

land, . . . , . . • . . D. Webster. 178 

71. In Behalf of Catholic Emancipation, . . Rev. Sidney Smith. 180 

72. The Reward of Monarchs, .... E.Everett. 182 

73. Reflections in Westminster Abbey, .... Addison. 184 

78. Character of Schiller, Thomas Carlyle. 190 

79. Law, . . Stevens. 192 

80. Contributions of the New World to the Old, . D.Webster. 194 

81. Peroration to the Invective against Warren Hastings, Sheridan. 196 

82. Panegyric on the Eloquence of Sheridan, . . . Burke. 197 
93. Rolla to the Peruvians, Sheridan. 215 

96. On the Bill to refund to Gen. Jackson the Fine imposed upon 

him at New Orleans, 1815, . . W. C. Preston. 218 

97. On Arming for War with England, 1811, H. Clay. 221 

102. Rainy Weather, . W .H. Simmons. 227 

103, Hannibal to his Soldiers, . ... Livy. 228 

109. Character of Columbus, W. Irving. 239 

110. A Ship under Full Sail, R. H. Dana, Jr. 241 

111. From his Inaugural Address on Entering upon the Presidency 

of the United States, Jefferson. 242 

112. Repudiation of the Charge of French Influence during the 

War of 1812, H. Clay. 245 

113. Indifference to Popular Elections, . . G. McDuffie. 247 

114. Brutus on the Death of Caesar, . . . Shakspeare. 249 
116. On Increasing the Army, preparatory to the War of 

1812, J. C. Calhoun. 252 

121. Exhortation against Subjection to Foreign Influence, 

Geo. Washington. 259 

122. Adams and Jefferson, W. Wirt. 260 

123. Anecdote of Napoleon, .... Duchess d'Abrantes. 262 

124. Reply to Sir Robert Walpole, . . . Lord Chatham. 264 

125. Scene from " Pizarro," Sheridan. 265 

130. The Jubilee of the Constitution, . . . J. Q. Adams. 275 

131. A Literary Dinner, . . . . . . Irving. 277 

137. Edmund Burke, . .* . . . Blackwood } s Magazine. 287 

138. Character of Lord Bacon, . . . . T. B. Macaulay. 289 

142. On Legal Reform, G. C. Verplanck. 296 

143. A Satire on Duelling, . . . . . . Sheridan. 298 



Xll 



CONTENTS. 



LESSONS IN VERSE. 

Lesson 

5. The Rainbow, Campbell. 64 

6. The Battle-Field, . . . . . . W. C. Bryant. 65 

7. The Virgin Mary's Bank, J. C. Callahan. 67 

14. Washington's Monument, Anonymous. 81 

15. Corn Fields, Mary Howitt. 82 

16. Abou Ben Adhem, Leigh Hunt. 84 

18. The Death of Leonidas, .... Rev. George Croly. 87 

19. Death for Our Country, J. G. Percival. 89 

20. To One Departed, T.K. Hervey. 90 

23. The Statue of the Belvidere Apollo, . Rev. H. H. Milman. 94 

27, The Muse's Hopes for America, . . . Bishop Berkeley. 101 

28. Cleopatra Embarking on the Cydnus, - .T.K. Hervey. 101 
33. A Psalm of Life, H.W.Longfellow. Ill 

35. Books, Robert Southey. 114 

36. Helvellyn, Walter Scott. 115 

41. Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Gray. 123 

45. Glenara, Campbell. 133 

47. The Seventh Plague of Egypt. The Tempest, . . Anon. 137 

51. God is Every Where, . . . . . Hugh Hutton. 146 

52. The Destruction of Sennacherib, . . . . . Byron. 147 
53 Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouny, . Coleridge. 148 

56. The Might with the Right, Anonymous. 155 

57. Art, Charles Sprague. 156 

58. Old Ironsides, . . . . 0. W. Holmes. 157 
61. To a Child, . . . . _, . . Anonymous. 162 

64. Lochinvar, Walter Scott. 166 

65. The Little Admiral, Thomas Moore. 168 

68. Lochiel's Warning, Campbell. 173 

69. Scene from the Tragedy of Catiline, . . Rev. G. Croly. 175 

74. The American Flag, J. R. Drake. 186 

75. To a City Pigeon, N. P. Willis. 187 

76. The First of March, Horace Smith. 188 

77. Where is He ? . . . . . . . . Henry Neele. 189 

83. The Battle of Ivry, T. B. Macaulay. 198 

84. Scene from " The Wife," . . . . J. S. Knowles. 201 

85. Hours of Idleness, Wordsworth. 206 

86. Fame, ....;... Joanna Baillie. 207 

87. The Pauper's Death-bed, .... Mrs. Southey. 208 

88. Last Scene of the Tragedy of" Brutus," . J. H. Payne. 209 

89. On the Being of a God, Young. 211 

90. Henry V. to his Soldiers, .... Shakspeare. 213 

91. Marcellus's Speech to the Mob, .... Ibid. 213 

92. Henry V.'s Speech before the Battle of Agincourt, . Ibid. 214 
94. Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul, . Addison. 216 



CONTENTS. X1U 

Lesson Page 

05. The Coral Grove, J. G. Perctval. 217 

98. Love, Southey. 222 

99. America to Great Britain, . . Washington Allston. 223 

100. Cardinal Wolsey's Speech to Cromwell, . . Shakspeare. 224 

101. The Mariner's Dream, Dimond. 225 

104. Marco Bozzaris, Halleck. 229 

105. Hymn to the Stars, Anonymous. 231 

106. The Passions, Collins. 232 

107. Van Den Bosch persuades Philip Van Artevelde to accept the 

command of Ghent, Henry Taylor. 235 

108. Van Artevelde's Defence of his Rebellion, . . . Ibid. 237 
115. Mark Antony's Oration, Shakspeare. 250 

117. The Antiquity of Freedom, . . . . . Bryant. 254 

118. Charade on the Name of the Poet Campbell, W. M. Praed. 256 

119. Confidence in God, Addison 257 

120. To One in Affliction, J. Montgomery. 258 

126. Van Artevelde's Address to the Men of Ghent, Henry Taylor. 268 

127. The March to Moscow, Southey. 270 

128. Lodgings for Single Gentlemen, .... Colman. 273 

Moore. 274 

C. Sprague. 280 

W. C. Bryant. 282 

MUton. 283 

John Pierpont. 284 

. Pope. 285 

Campbell. 291 

Bulwer. 292 



129. Beauty, Wit, and Gold, 

132. Melancholy Fate of the Indians, 

133. The Future Life, 

134. Satan's Reproof of Beelzebub, 

135. The Pilgrim Fathers, . 

136. Order of Nature, 

139. On the Downfall of Poland, . 

140. Saturday Evening, . . . 

141. God, Bowring. 293 

144. Quarrel Scene from Douglas, . . . Rev. John Home. 301 

145. The Child of Earth, Caroline Norton. 304 

146. The Soul's Glimpses of Immortality, . . Jane Taylor. 305 

147. Rienzi's Address to the Men of Rome, . Miss Mitford. 306 

148. The Missing Ship, Epes Sargent. 307 

149. Napoleon and the British Sailor, .... Campbell. 309 

150. From the Tragedy of " Velasco," . . . Epes Sargent. 311 

151. Christ Walking on the Water, . . . Mrs. Hemans. 315 

152. Wallenstein's Reflections on hearing of the Death of young 

Piccolomini, Schiller. 316 

153. Farewell to Life, Korner. 316 

154. Tallien's Denunciation of Robespierre, . . . Coleridge. 317 

155. The Song of the Forge, Anon. 318 

156. Scene from " Virginius," . . . ; . J. S. Knowles. 320 



THE ELOCUTIONIST. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

Elocution, as a department of ornamental education, 
is the art of speaking and reading according to a certain 
established standard of elegance. Instruction in the ait 
may be said to have two objects, good colloquial or con- 
versational speech, and the power of reading aloud and 
making formal addresses with effect. Some persons, when 
called upon to read or speak before a considerable multi- 
tude, deliver themselves in an ungainly manner ; while 
others charm all who are present. It must be obvious, 
that to bring out the best powers of the voice, and extend 
the gift of agreeable speaking beyond the comparatively 
small circle in which it is usually found, are objects of 
considerable importance. 

Elocution is divided into — 

I. Articulation and Pronunciation ; under which are 
comprehended, distinctness, force, and freedom from pro- 
vincialisms. 

II. Inflection and Modulation, w T hich have a regard to 
the slides, shifts, and pauses of the voice, natural to cer- 
tain constructions of language, and suited, with other 
modifications of the voice, as to force, height, and time, 
to the expression of certain sentiments and passions. 

III. Emphasis, which is to be guided by the compara- 
tive importance of words in a sentence. 

IV. Gesture, comprehending those attitudes, motions, 
and looks, which are suitable to certain passions, and 
lend force or embellishment to the meaning of the speaker. 



16 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 



I. ARTICULATION. 



" Speech/' says Charming, " is one of our grand dis- 
tinctions from the brute. A man was not made to shut up 
his mind in itself, but to exchange it for other mind. 
Our power over others lies not so much in the amount of 
thought within us, as in the power of bringing it out. A 
man of more than ordinary intellectual vigour may, for 
want of the faculty of expression, be a cipher, without 
significance, in society. And not only does a man influ- 
ence others, but he greatly aids his own intellect, by giv- 
ing distinct and forcible utterance to his thoughts. Our 
social rank, too, depends a good deal on our power of 
utterance. The principal distinction between what are 
called gentlemen and the vulgar, lies in this : that the lat- 
ter are awkward in manners, and are especially wanting 
in propriety, clearness, grace, and ease of utterance." 

A good articulation consists in giving every letter in a 
syllable its due proportion of sound, according to the most 
approved custom of pronouncing it, and in making such a 
distinction between the syllables, of which words are com- 
posed, that the ear shall, without difficulty, acknowledge 
their number, and perceive, at once, to which syllable each 
letter belongs. Where these points are not observed, the 
articulation is proportionally defective. 

Correct articulation is the most important exercise of 
the voice and of the organs of speech. A public speaker, 
possessed only of a moderate voice, if he articulate cor- 
rectly, will be better understood, and heard with greater 
pleasure, than one who vociferates without judgment. 
The voice of the latter may, indeed, extend to a consider- 
able distance ; but, the sound is dissipated in confusion ; 
of the former voice, not the smallest vibration is wasted ; 
every stroke is perceived at the utmost distance to which 
it reaches, and hence it has often the appearance of pen- 
etrating even farther than one, which is loud but badly ar- 
ticulated. 

In just articulation the words are not to be hurried 
over, nor precipitated syllable over syllable: nor, as it 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 17 

were, melted together into a mass of confusion : they 
should be neither abridged, nor prolonged, nor swallowed, 
nor forced, and, (if I may so express it,) shot from the 
mouth; they should not be trailed, nor drawled, nor let to 
slip out carelessly, so as to drop unfinished ; no, they are 
to be delivered out from the lips, as beautiful coins, newly 
issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, 
perfectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, dis- 
tinct, sharp, in due succession, and of due w T eight. 

The difficulty of acquiring a correct articulation being 
unusually great in the English language, the foundation 
should be laid at that early age when the organs are most 
tractable. 

Pronunciation points out the proper sounds of vowels 
and consonants, and the distribution of accent on sylla- 
bles. As pronunciation is better, because more amply, 
taught in Dictionaries, it is unnecessary to attempt to give 
any rules for it in this place. 

IT. INFLECTION AND MODULATION. 

An inflection is a bending or sliding of the voice either 
upwards or downwards. There are two inflections; the 
one, called the Upw r ard, or Rising Inflection ; the other, 
the Downward, or Falling Inflection. In more simple 
terms — there is one inflection, which denotes that the sense, 
or meaning of the sentence is suspended, as, 

To be carnally minded' ; 
and another, which denotes that the sense is completed, as, 

is death\ 
To be carnally minded' — is — death\ 

To give a practical example, that must be understood 
by the dullest comprehension : — I am to give a person, 
tw r o, three, four, five, or ten dollars — say, I am to give him 
five dollars. In counting, I must pronounce up to the 
fourth number with the rising inflection ; that is, with the 
inflection denoting incompletion, thus : — 

One'— Two— Three'— Four"— Five\ 
The numbers up to four are pronounced with the rising 



18 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

inflection ; and nature dictates, that the numbers, one, 
two and three, which merely imply continuation, shall be 
pronounced with a less degree of the same inflection, than 
number " Four/' which not only denotes continuation, 
but, it must denote, at the same time, by the greater ele- 
vation of the voice, that the next number completes the 
sum to be given. Let us apply this principle to sentences : — 

The knowledge 7 — power' — wisdom' — and 
goodness of God" — must all be unbounded. v 

Here is a sentence, which consists of five divisions, or 
groups ; up to the fourth is pronounced with the rising in- 
flection ; the fourth, with a greater degree of the same in- 
flection than the previous divisions, to denote that the next 
closes the enumeration. 

They, through faith, subdued kingdoms'— 
wrought righteousness' — obtained promises' 
— stopped the mouths of lions' — quenched 
the violence of fire' — escaped the edge of the 
sword' — out of weakness, were made strong' 
— waxed valiant in fight"' — and turned to 
flight the armies of the aliens\ 

This sentence contains nine groups, that fall within our 
rule ; the terminating words of which are ; Kingdoms — 
righteousness — -promises— -lions— -fire-^sivord — strong-*-* 
fight — aliens. Up to the eighth is pronounced with the 
rising inflection : "fight" the last word of the eighth 
division, is not only uttered with the rising inflection, but 
with such an additional degree of it, as to make the 
hearer aware, that the next grouping will finish the 
subject. 

Before the pupil begins to study the rules of inflection, 
it is absolutely necessary that he understand distinctly the 
nature of the slides, and be able to inflect with ease,, and 
in a full and sonorous voice. Many who instruct them- 
selves, are apt, when they see the mark of the rising in- 
flection on a word, to pronounce that word with loudness 
merely; and when they see the falling mark on a word, 
to give that word in a weak voice. Now, one may slide 
the voice to a great height, and yet not speak in a loud 
tone ; and to a great depth, and not speak in a weak or 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 19 

soft tone. It is as well, in the first attempts in inflection, 
to give it, whether rising or falling, in a loud tone ; but 
care must be taken that the slide of. the voice take place. 
If the pupil is apt to imagine, from a deficiency of tune, 
that he rises when he speaks loud, then his inflections 
ought to be given with great softness. When there is a 
tardiness, as in such cases, in apprehending the inflection, 
the pupil may find it the more readily in expressions of 
surprise, where it is more marked and produced, than in 
any other situation, as is heard in the word indeed, when 
anything remarkable is mentioned. A violin may be made 
to inflect, by sliding the finger up and down the same 
string, while the bow is drawn across. This will explain 
to those who have not the benefit of a master, the true 
nature of an inflection, and the difference between an in- 
flection, and a sudden elevation or depression of the voice. 

TABLE OF INFLECTIONS. 

The acute accent (') denotes the rising inflection ; and 
the grave accent ( v ) the falling inflection. 

One' — Two' — Three' — Four' — Five' — Six' — Seven'— Eight'— 

Nine'— Ten'— Eleven"— Twelve'. 
One\ 

One', two\ 
One', two', three\ 
One', two', three', four\ 
One', two', three', four', five\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine', ten\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine', ten', el* 

even\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine', ten', el- 
even', twelve\ 

Did you give me one'? I gave you two\ 

Did you give me two'? I gave you three\ 

Did you give me three'? I gave you four\ 

Did you give me four'? I gave you five\ 

Did you give me five'? I gave you six\ 

Did you give me six'? I gave you seven\ 

Did you give me seven'? I gave you eight\ 



20 



THE ELOCUTIONIST. 



Did you give me eight'? I gave you nine\ 

Did you give me nine'? I gave you ten\ 

Did you give me ten'? I gave you eleven\ 

Did you give me eleven'? I gave you twelve\ 

You must not say one', but two\ 

You must not say two', but three\ 

You must not say three', hut four\ 

You must not say four', but five\ 

You must not say five', but six\ 

You must not say six', but seven\ 

You must not say seven', but eight". 

You must not say eight', but nine\ 

You must not say nine', but ten". 

You must not say ten', but eleven\ 
> You must not say eleven', but twelve\ 

The Rising, followed by the Falling Inflection* 
Does he talk rationally', or irrationally"? 
Does he pronounce correctly', or incorrectly"? 
Does he mean honestly', or dishonestly"? 
Does she dance gracefully', or ungracefully"? 
Do they act cautiously', or incautiously'? 

The Falling, followed by the Rising* 
He talked rationally", not irrationally'. 
He pronounces correctly", not incorrectly'. 
He means honestly\ not dishonestly'. 
She dances gracefully", not ungracefully'. 
They acted cautiously", not incautiously'. 

The following plate may denote the manner of the up- 
ward and downward slide or inflection : 



OT 





J&usccaZ Scale, 




Inflection is merely the outline of Eloquence. Feeling 
and passion fill up the picture ; and to these alone, must 
be attributed that variety, which adorns, and renders 



21 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

speech impressive. Such is the power of the intellectual, 
over the material part of our nature, that all our bodily or- 
gans are influenced by their powerful agency. In parti- 
cular, the voice is attuned, and the eyes are impregnated 
by the feeling or passion, which engrosses the soul. 

EXERCISES ON THE INFLECTIONS. 

Blessed' are the poor in spirit\ Blessed' are the meek\ — 
Blessed' are the peace-makers\ 

Let your light so shine before men', that they may see your 
good works', and glorify your Father" which is in heaven\ 

And now abideth faith', hope", charity v ; these three : but, 
the greatest of these' — is — charity\ 

When all thy mercies', my God', 

My rising soul surveys' — 
Transported with the view', I'm lost 

In wonder', love", and praise\ 

Correct articulation', is the most important exercise of the 
voice', and of the organs of speech\ 

The sorrow for the dead', is the only sorrow' from which we 
refuse to be divorced\ 

Age', that lessens the enjoyment of life', increases our desire 
of living\ 

Christianity' bears all the marks of a divine original\ It 
came down from heaven', and its purpose is to carry us up 
thither\ 

Year' steals upon us' after year\ Life' is never still for a 
moment', but continually', though insensibly', sliding into a new 
form\ Infancy' rises up fast to childhood v — childhood' to 
youth v — youth passes quickly into manhood', and the gray hair' 
and the lading look', are not long in admonishing us", that old 
age is near at hand\ 

MODULATION. 

The modulation of the voice is the proper management 
of its tones, so as to produce grateful melody to the ear. 
Upon the modulation of the voice depends that variety, 
which is so pleasing and so necessary to refresh and re- 
lieve the ear in a long oration. The opposite fault is mo- 
notony, which becomes at last so disagreeable as to defeat 
altogether the success of a public speaker, — as far as to 



22 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

please is any part of his object, — by exciting the utmost 
impatience and disgust in his audience. To the variety, 
so grateful to the ear, not only changes of tone are requi- 
site, but, also, changes of delivery. 

According to the subject, the rapidity of the utterance 
varies, as the time of the different movements in music. 
Narration proceeds equably ; the pathetic, slowly ; in- 
struction, authoritatively ; determination, with vigour ; and 
passion, with rapidity ; all of which are analogous to the 
andante, the cantabile, the allegro, the presto, and other 
musical expressions. 

The modulation of the voice is one of the most impor- 
tant requisites in a public speaker. Even to the private 
reader, who wishes to execute his task with pleasure to 
others, it is a necessary accomplishment. A voice which 
keeps long in one key, however correct the pronunciation, 
delicate the inflection, and just the emphasis, will soon tire 
the hearer. 

The voice has been considered as capable of assuming 
three keys , the low, the high, and the middle. This va- 
riety is undoubtedly too limited ; but for the first lessons of 
a student, it may be useful to regard the classification. A 
well trained voice is capable of ranging in these with va- 
rious degrees of loudness, softness, stress, continuity, and 
rapidity. 

Modulation includes also the consideration of time, 
which is natural in the pronunciation of certain passages. 
The combinations, then, of pitch, force, and time, are ex- 
tremely numerous : thus, we have low, loud, slow ; low,^ 
soft, slow ; low, feeble, slow ; low, loud, quick, &c. ; mid- 
dle, loud, slow ; middle, soft, slow ; middle, feeble, slow, 
&c. Thus, we have a copious natural language adapted 
to the expression of every emotion and passion. 

The application of these qualities of the voice in the ex- 
pression of emotion, would lead us into a field of inquiry 
too wide for a volume such as this : the taste of the teach 
er will readily suggest to the pupil what is wanting here. 
A few passages, however, may be given here as fit exer- 
cises for particular combinations of these qualities. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 23 



EXAMPLES. 



ADORATION — ADMIRATION — SOLEMNITY — SUBLIMITY. — LOW, LOUD, 
SLOW, CONTINUOUS. 

Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.— 
Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in 
heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us 
our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. — 
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil; for 
thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. 
Amen. 

In addresses to the Deity, little deviation should be made 
from the key note. The inflections should be little varied 
— even emphasis should not be strikingly marked. 

thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers ! 
whence are thy beams, sun ! thy everlasting light ? Thou 
eomest forth in thy awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in 
the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. 
But thou thyself movest alone : who can be a companion of thy 
course ? The oaks of the mountains fall ; the mountains them- 
selves decay with years : the ocean shrinks and grows again ; 
the moon herself is lost in the heavens ; but thou art for ever 
the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. When the 
world is dark with tempests, when thunders roll and light- 
nings fiy, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laugh- 
est at the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in vain ; for he 
beholds thy beams no more ; whether thy yellow hair flows on 
the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. 
But thou art, perhaps, like me, for a season : thy years will have 
an end. Thou wilt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of 
the morning. 

MOURNFULNESS — DESPONDENCY. — LOW, SOFT, MIDDLE TIME, 
TREMULOUS. 

Had it pleased heaven 

To try me with affliction ; had it rained 

All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head ; 

Steeped me in poverty to the very lips ; 

Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ; 

I should have found in some part of my soul 

A drop of patience; but, alas ! to make me 

A fixed figure, for the time of scorn 

To point his slow unmoving finger at — 

Oh— 

FEAR WITHOUT GUILT. — VERY LOW, SLOW, THE TONE SUSTAINED. 

How ill this taper burns ! Ha ! who comes here ? 
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 



24* THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

That shapes this monstrous apparition — 

It comes upon me : Art thou any thing ? 

Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 

That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stand ? 

GUILTY FEAR. — LOW, SLOW, HARSH, THE VOICE AT TIMES 
ASPIRATED. 

Oh, coward conscience, how dost thou affright me ! 
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight ; 
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 

DEEP EMOTION. — LOW, QUICK, BROKEN. 

Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 
She does not feel, she does not feel ! Thank heaven, 
She does not feel her Fazio's last, last kiss ! 
One other ! Cold as stone — sweet, sweet as roses ! 

CONVERSATIONAL VOICE. — MIDDLE TONE, LIGHT, MIDDLE TIME. 

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, 
trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of our 
players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. — 
And do not saw the air too much with your hands, but use all 
gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, 
whirlwind of your passions, you must acquire and beget a tem- 
perance that may give it smoothness. 0, it offends me to the 
soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pa ted fellow tear a passion 
to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; 
who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable 
dumb show and noise. 

DIGNITY. — MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, SLOW. 

While there is hope, do not distrust the gods, 
But wait at least till Caesar's near approach 
Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late 
To sue for chains and own a conqueror. 

EARNESTNESS. — MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, TIME QUICKER. 

Whom are we to charge as the deceiver of the state ? Is it 
not the man whose words are inconsistent with his actions ? 
On whom do the maledictions fall, usually pronounced in our 
assemblies ? Is it not on this man ? Can we point out a more 
enormous instance of iniquity in any speaker, than this incon- 
sistency between his words and actions ? - 

REVENGE. — MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, ASPIRATED. 

0, that the slave had forty thousand lives ! 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! 
Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 
Yield up, love, thy crown and hearted throne 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 25 

To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught, 
For 'tis of aspics' tongues. 

COURAGE — CHPVALROUS EXCITEMENT. — HIGH, LOUD, SLOW 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; 

Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 

In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, 

As modest stillness, and humility ; 

But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 

Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 

Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage. 

On, on, you noblest English, 

Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war-proof! 

Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 

Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, 

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. 

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 

Straining upon the start. The game's afoot ; 

Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge, 

Cry — Heaven for Harry ! England ! and St. George ! 

COURAGE — DESPERATE EXCITEMENT — HIGH, LOUD, SLOW, 
MORE ASPIRATED. 

Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeomen ! 
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head : 
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ; 
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves ! — 
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom : 
Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; 
Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George, 
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! 
Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. 

FONDNESS, MrXED WITH SORROW. — HIGH, SOFT, SLOW. 

Oh, my long lost hope ! 

If thou to giddy valour gav'st the rein, 

To-morrow I may lose my son for ever. 

The love of thee before thou saw.'st the light, 

Sustained my life when thy brave father fell. 

If thou shalt fall, I have nor love, nor hope, 

In this wide world. My son, remember me ! 

Wilt thou be gone ? It is not yet near day: 
It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 



26 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 



SHIFT OF THE VOICE. 



In the examples given above, the prevailing tone of 
the voice was pointed out; but in passionate composition, 
and even in that of reasoning and narrative, there is fre- 
quently in the same sentence, and, generally, at the begin- 
ning of a new sentence and paragraph, a marked variety 
of tone. The right assumption of these keys constitutes 
what may be termed the feeling of a composition; with- 
out it, acting is lifeless, and argument tiresome. It is a 
want of this variety which distinguishes the inanimate 
speaker ; his inflection may be correct, and have even what 
has been termed a musical cadence ; but without this va- 
riety of key, he must tire his audience. The effect of a 
transition from the major to the minor key in music is not 
more striking than the variety which the voice will occa- 
sionally assume. 

A change of key is generally necessary at the com- 
mencement of a new sentence. When in the preceding 
sentence the voice has sunk down towards the close, in the 
new sentence it sometimes recovers its elasticity, and some- 
times it continues in the depressed note on which the pre- 
ceding sentence terminates. This is generally the case 
when the second sentence is illustrative or expository of 
the first : 

No blessing of life is comparable to the enjoyment of a dis- 
creet and virtuous friend. It eases and unloads the mind, clears 
and improves the understanding, engenders thoughts and know- 
ledge, animates virtue and good resolutions, soothes and allays 
the passions, and finds emplovment for most of the vacant hours 
of life. 

Here the second sentence beginning, It eases, assumes 
the low note, which terminates the preceding sentence. 
In the remaining clauses the voice is varied, in order to 
rivet the attention on each particular. 

Speciality, in the same sentence, has a similar effect : 
The flying Mede — his shaftless broken low. 
The fiery Greek — his red pursuing spear. 

Opposition, variety, modification of the sense, interrup- 
tion of the thought, whether in one sentence or in separ- 
ate sentences, produce a change of key : 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 27 

Oh, blindness to the future ! kindly given, 

That each may fill the circle marked by Heaven, 

Who sees, with equal eye, as God of all, 

A hero perish, or a sparrow fall ; 

Atoms or systems into ruin liurl'd ; 

And now a bubble burst, and now a world. 

Mountains above, earth's, ocean's plain below, 
Death in the front, destruction in the rear. 

Age in a virtuous person, carries in it an authority which 
makes it preferable to all the pleasures of youth. 

To die — to sleep — to sleep ! perchance to dream ; 
Ay, there's the rub. 

If thou be'st he — 
But oh! how fallen. 

In passionate composition, the changes of key are more 
frequent than in argument, as the mind is more restless ; 
in the latter case, it is principally at the beginning of sen- 
tences or paragraphs that a change is necessary. In or- 
der to keep the minds of an audience awake to an argu- 
ment, it is necessary that the speaker should at times use 
the artifice of sincerity, wonder, &c. ; indeed, they are not 
artifices, but the feeling which must occupy the breast of 
every one who speaks with intensity. Even the read- 
ing of a narrative partakes of the mood of the speaker's 
mind, and will be relieved at times by those modifications 
of voice, w T hich are in accordance with his natural temper. 

If, then, a mere narrative assumes these modulations, a 
public address, such as is given from the pulpit, should be 
greatly varied in its tones; for then, pity, hope, and other 
passions, must animate the mind of the speaker ; nay, even 
in the closest reasoning, there must be an earnestness, in 
which must be exhibited, by varying tones, the natural 
impatience of a mind which, convinced itself, wonders at 
the tardiness of conviction on others, the relapse into the 
calmness of appeal natural after such impatience, and the 
assumption of confidence in the statement of arguments 
that appear manifest to all. It is on several of the most 
remarkable of these moods of the mind that the figures of 
rhetoric are founded ; their pronunciation, then, must be 



28 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

intimately connected with the modulation of the voice, 
and with the shift which forms so prominent a part of mod- 
ulation. 

IMITATIVE MODULATION. 

Immensity, sublimity, are naturally expressed by a pro- 
longation and swell of the voice : 

Roll on thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll. 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. 

The adoption of a tone little varied in the inflection is 
necessary in such passages, the wave of the voice not ex- 
ceeding a half note : 

Thou glorious mirror ! where the Almighty's form 

Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 

Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm, 

Icing the pole ; or, in the torrid clime, 

Dark, heaving ; boundless, endless, and sublime. 

The reader's admiration of a passage is conveyed to 
another by a subdued imitation, and a long interval be- 
twixt the words. I notice this, although it does not come 
within the legitimate sphere of ornamental reading, as it 
is a practice of daily occurrence, and as it is frequently 
employed by the intelligent reader to convey to others the 
full beauty, force and sublimity of a passage. In such 
reading, there is a tone of wonder and admiration ; and 
the frequent pauses are made, that the hearer may have 
leisure to see the composition in all its meaning. 

Motion and sound in all their modifications, are, in des- 
criptive reading, more or less imitated. To glide, to drive, 
to swell, to flow, to skip, to whirl, to turn, to rattle, &c, 
all partake of a peculiar modification of voice. This ex- 
pression lies in the, key, force, and time of the tones, and 
the forcible pronunciation of certain letters which are 
supposed more particularly to express the imitation. 

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance ; 
As those move easiest, who have learned to dance. 
'Tis not enough, no harshness gives offence — 
The sound must seem an echo to the sense. 
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, 
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 29 

But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 

The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. 

When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 

The line too labours, and the words move slow; 

Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, 

Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. 

See from the brake the whirring pheasant springs. 
And mounts exulting on triumphant wings. 

The rhythmus of speech is significant of various kinds of 
motion. 

LABORIOUS MOTION. 

Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone. 

The pauses which must necessarily occur betwixt high, 
hill, huge, round, and stone, are eminently descriptive of 
slow motion. The necessity of these pauses is shewn in 
what follows on the measure of speech. 

REGULAR MOVEMENT. 

First march the heavy mules securely slow , 

O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go. 

The regularity of the cadence here, is peculiarly ap- 
propriate. 

PAUSES. 

Besides the pauses of passion, and those which are de- 
noted by grammatical punctuation, there are short pauses 
at the termination of those clusters of words w 7 hich have 
been termed oratorical,' and others which are regulated 
by the rhythmus of speech. The latter are explained 
elsewhere; the former, which have obtained the name of 
Rhetorical Pauses, may be quickly understood by the fol- 
lowing rule and examples. 

Pause before the nominative, if it consists of several 
words, or if it is one important word ; before and after an 
immediate clause ; before the relative ; before and after 
clauses introduced by prepositions ; before conjunctions ; 
and before the infinitive mood, if any words intervene be- 
twixt it and the word which governs it. 



30 THE ELOCUTIONIST* 

The experience of want | enhances the value of plenty. 

Truth is the basis | of excellence. 

Trials in this state of being | are the lot of man. 

Death is the season | which brings our affections to the test. 

From the right exercise j of our intellectual powers | arises | 
one | of the chief sources | of our happiness. 

We applaud virtue | even in enemies. 

Honour | and shame | from no condition rise. 

A public speaker | may have a voice that is musical | and of 
great compass ; but it requires much time and labour | to at- 
tain its just modulation | and that variety of flexion and tone | 
which a pathetic discourse requires. 

These pauses are generally shorter in their duration 
than those at the grammatical points. Grammatical punc- 
tuation does not always demand a pause, and the time of 
the pauses at various points is not correctly stated in 
many books on reading. In some treatises, the pause at 
the period is described as being uniformly four times as 
long as that at a comma ; whereas, it is regulated entire- 
ly by the nature of the subject, the intimacy or remoteness 
of the connection between the sentences, and other causes. 

III. EMPHASIS. 

By emphasis is meant that stronger and fuller sound of 
voice, by which, in reading or speaking, we distinguish 
the accented syllable of some word, on which we design 
to lay particular stress, in order to show how it affects the 
rest of the sentence. On the right management of the 
emphasis depend the whole life and spirit of every dis- 
course. If no emphasis be placed on any word, not only 
is discourse rendered heavy and lifeless, but the meaning 
left often ambiguous. If the emphasis be placed wrong, 
we pervert and confound the meaning wholly. 

To give a common instance ; such a simple question as 
this, " Do you ride to town to-day ?" is capable of no few- 
er than four acceptations, according as the emphasis is dif- 
ferently placed on the words, If it be pronounced thus : 
Do you ride to town to-day ? the answer may naturally 
be, No ; I send my servant in my stead. If thus : Do you 
ride to town to-day? Answer, No; I intend to walk. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 31 

Do you ride to town to-day ? No ; I ride out into the 
fields. Do you ride to town to-day 1 No \ but I shall to- 
morrow. 

In order to acquire the proper management of the em- 
phasis, the great rule, and indeed the only rule possible 
to be given, is, that the speaker or reader study to attain 
a just conception of the force and spirit of those sentiments 
which he is to pronounce. For to lay the emphasis with 
exact propriety, is a constant exercise of good sense and 
attention. It is far from being an inconsiderable attain- 
ment. It is one of the greatest trials of a true and just 
taste ; and must rise from feeling delicately ourselves, and 
from judging accurately of what is fittest to strike the feel- 
ings of others. 

Next to emphasis, the pauses in speaking demand at- 
tention. These are of two kinds ; first, emphatical pau- 
ses : and next, such as mark the distinctions of sense. 
An emphatical pause is made after something has been 
said of peculiar moment, on which we want to fix the 
hearer's attention. Such pauses have the same effect as 
a strong emphasis, and are subject to the same rules ; es- 
pecially to the caution of not repeating them too frequent- 

But the most frequent and principal use of pauses is to 
mark the divisions of the sense, and at the same time to 
allow the speaker to draw his breath ; and the proper ad- 
justment of such pauses is one of the most difficult arti- 
cles in delivery. In all reading and public speaking the 
management of the breath requires great care, so as not 
to be obliged to divide words from one another which have 
so intimate a connection, that they ought to be pronounced 
in the same breath, and without the least separation. 
Many- sentences are miserably mangled, and the force of 
the emphasis totally lost, by divisions being made in the 
wrong place. To avoid this, every one, while he is read- 
ing or speaking, should be careful to provide a full supply 
of breath for what he is to utter. It is a great mistake 
to imagine, that the breath must be drawn only at the end 
of a period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It may 



32 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

easily be gathered at the intervals of the period, when the 
voice is only suspended for a moment ; and, by this man- 
agement, we may have always a sufficient stock for car- 
rying on the longest sentence without improper interrup- 
tions. 

IV. GESTURE. 

Gesture regulates the looks, movements, and attitudes, 
which are supposed natural in certain passions and emo- 
tions. In strong excitement, there is a similarity of ges- 
ture among all nations ; but the extent and variety of its 
employment in common conversation, and in formal ad- 
dresses to the public, are greatly regulated by the temper, 
taste, and intellectual improvement, of each individual na- 
tion. The gesture of the actor is more violent and pro- 
fuse than that of the orator, who is supposed to be more 
under the influence of reason, and to address himself to 
the understanding of his audience. In civilised and pol- 
ished countries, a profusion of gesture is to be avoided in 
public discourses ; it should neither be minute nor violent. 
The first is inconsistent with that absorption of thought 
which is supposed necessary in an intellectual address ; 
the second is an outrage on the taste and feelings of the 
audience, and is apt to raise indignation and aversion. 

Many modern speakers offend by the vehemence of their 
gesticulation ; indeed, the instruction which is given on 
gesture should often be occupied in reducing within the 
limits of grace, extravagant positions and movements. 
The ancients were more chaste in their gesture than is 
commonly imagined. Although, in seasons of great ex- 
citement, they adopted, at times, a bold and striking ges- 
ture, they were generally more restrained in their move- 
ments than many modern speakers. 

Gesture regulates the position and movement of the 
body, the eye, the limbs, and, indeed, the whole deport- 
ment. In oratory, the regulation of the hand is of pecu- 
liar importance, not only as it serves to express passion, 
but to mark the dependence of clauses, and to express 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 33 

the emphasis. In the suspension of a sentence, for in- 
stance, the hand may take an upward slide ; while at the 
completion, the hand may sink in -a line with the breast. 
In the stroke of emphasis, the hand rests in the same posi- 
tion, but comes down with a combined jerk of the elbow 
and wrist. The arm in its movements must not be much 
curved, but come freely from the shoulder. 

A volume might be written on the subject of gesture ; 
but as the great proportion of students in Elocution do not 
require this accomplishment, and as it can be learned more 
quickly and efficaciously by a few instructions from the 
lining model, it has-been deemed unnecessary to swell this 
volume by a detail of its numerous laws. We will only 
enumerate a few of the most obvious modes of gesture. 

The Head and Face. The hanging down of the head 
denotes shame, or grief. The holding it up, pride, or 
courage. To nod forward, implies assent. To toss the 
head back, dissent. The inclination of the head implies 
bashfulness, or languor. The head is averted in dislike 
or horror. It leans forward in attention. 

The Eyes. The eyes are raised in prayer. They weep 
in sorrow. Burn in anger. They are cast on vacancy 
in thought. They are thrown in different directions in 
doubt and anxiety. 

The Arms. The arm is projected forward in authority. 
Both arms are spread extended in admiration. They are 
held forward in imploring help. They both fall suddenly 
in disappointment. 

The Hands. The hand on the head indicates pain, or 
distress. On the eyes, shame. On the lips, injunction of 
silence. On the breast, it appeals to conscience, or inti- 
mates desire. The hand waves, or flourishes, in joy, or, 
contempt. Both hands are held supine, or clasped, in 
prayer. Both descend prone in blessing. They are 
clasped, or wrung, in affliction. They are held forward, 
and received, in friendship. 

The Body. The body, held erect, indicates steadiness 
and courage. Thrown back, pride. Stooping forward, 



34 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

condescension or compassion. Bending, reverence, or re- 
spect. Prostration, the utmost humility, or abasement. 

The Lower Limbs. Their firm position, signifies cour- 
age, or obstinacy. Bended knees, timidity, or weakness. 
Frequent change, disturbed thoughts. They advance in 
desire, or courage. Retire in aversion, or fear. Start, in 
terror. Stamp, in authority, or anger. Kneel, in submis- 
sion and prayer. 



GENERAL RULES. 

INTERROGATION. 

Rule 1. — When a question commences with an interro- 
gative adverb or pronoun, it terminates with a falling in- 
flection. 

EXAMPLES. 

How can he exalt hi thoughts to anything great' and noble', 
who only believes that after a short turn on the stage of this 
world', he is to sink into oblivion", and to lose his conscious- 
ness forever v ? 

If I'm designed yon lordling's slave', 

By nature's law design 'd', 
Why was an independent wish' 

E'er planted in my mind v ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty\ or scorn v ? 
Or, why hath man the will', and power" ! 
To make his fellows mourn v ? 

Who can look down upon the grave', even of an enemy', and 
not feel a compunctious throb', that he should ever have 
warred with the poor handful of earth", that lies mouldering 
before him v ? 

Who can hold a fire in his hand', 

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus v ? 

Or, wallow naked in December's snow', 

By mere remembrance of the summer's heat v ? 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 35 

Rule 2. — When a question commences with a verb, it 
terminates with the rising inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

Shall dusc and ashes stand in the presence of that uncreated 
glory', before which principalities and powers bow down, trem- 
ble, and adore'? Shall guilty and condemned creatures appear 
in the presence of Him, in whose sight the heavens are not 
clean, and who chargeth his angels with folly' ? 

What is the happiness that this world can give ? Can it de- 
fend us from disasters' ? Can it preserve our hearts from grief, 
our eyes from tears, or our feet from falling' ? Can it prolong 
our comforts' ? Can it multiply our days' ? Can it redeem 
ourselves or oar friends from death' ? Can it soothe the king of 
terrors, or mitigate the agonies of the dying' ? 

Is the chair empty' ? Is the sword unsway'd' ? 
Is the king dead' ? the empire unpossess'd' ? 
What heir of York is there alive but we v ? 
And who is England's king but great York's heir v ? 

Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous energies', 
which inspire your hearts" ? 

Can such things be', 

And overcome us like a summer cloud', 

Without our special -wonder" ? 

EXCEPTIONS. 

Emphasis breaks through this rule. 

Was ever woman in this humour wooed' ? 
Was ever woman in this humour won v ? 

When a series of questions is long and terminates a 
paragraph, the last member may take the falling inflec- 
tion, as : 

Was the hope drunk 

Wherein you dress'd yourself? Hath it slept since'? 

And wakes it now, to look so green and pale, 

At what if did so freely' ? From this time, 

Such I account thy love. Art thou afear'd 

To be the same in thine own act' and valour', 

As thou art in desire" ? Would'st thou have that' 

Which thou esteem' st the ornament of life', 

And live a coward in thine own esteem", 

Letting I dare not' wait upon I would'. 

Like the poor cat i' the adage y ? 



36 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Rule III. — Questions introduced by verbs, containing 
two or more particulars connected by the conjunction or, 
terminate sometimes with the risings and sometimes with 
the falling inflection. If the question affects the objects 
disjunctively, the falling inflection is used ; if conjunc- 
tively, the rising. 

EXAMPLES. 

Thus, if I say, Is he in London, or Paris ? meaning, that I 
know he is in one of the towns, but that I do not know 
which one of the two, the rising inflection is on London, and 
the falling on Paris ; but if I ask the question, not knowing that 
he is in either of the towns, the rising inflection takes place on 
both. The same inflection would take place, though there were 
more than two connected by the conjunction or, — thus, Is he in 
London', or Paris', or Madrid', or Rome v ? meaning, in which 
one is he; or, Is he in London', or Paris', or Madrid', or Rome'? 
meaning, is he in any of the towns. 

Do the perfections of the Almighty lie dormant', or, are they 
not rather in continual exercise v ? 

Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust' ? 
Or, flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 

Is there a heart, that could drive back the wife, that seeks 
her. bleeding husband' ? or, the innocent babe', that cries for 
his imprisoned father v ? 

Disjunctive. — But shall we wear these glories for a day', 
Or, shall they last', and we rejoice in them N ? 

Conjunctive. — Thou fool, will thy discovery of the cause 
Suspend the effect', or heal' it. 

EXCLAMATION. 

Rule IV. — The inflection which terminates an ex- 
clamation is regulated by the common rules of inflec- 
tion. This rule is of course broken through by passion, 
which has slides and notes of its own. As a general 
rule, it may be stated that exclamations of surprise and 
indignation take a nsing slide in a loud tone ; those of 
sorrow, distress, pity, and love, the rising slide in a gentle 
tone ; and those of adoration, awe, and despair, the fall- 
ing inflection. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



37 



EXAMPLES. 

Oh ! we shall be so happy'. 

What' ! am I braved in my own house' ? 

Oh, that those lips had language' ! 

Newton was a Christian. Newton'! whose mind burst forth 
from the fetters cast by nature on our finite conceptions. 

0, world' ! 0, life' ! 0, day' ! 0, misery" ! 

COMPACT SENTENCE. 

A compact sentence is one, that consists of two princi- 
pal constructive parts, but which cannot be understood 
until both are pronounced. 

Rule V. — The first 'principal division of a compact sen- 
tence requires the rising inflection ; in the second, the 
voice gradually declines into the falling inflection* as the 
sense forms* 

EXAMPLES. 

Such is the construction of man', that labour may be styled its 
own reward\ 

As we discover the shadow moving along the dial-plate', so 
the advances we make in knowledge are only perceived by the 
distance gone over\ 

If to do were as easy as to know what were good' to do — 
chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' 
palaces\ 

While dangers are at a distance, and do not immediately' ap- 
proach us — let us not conclude that we are secure, unless we 
use the necessary precautions against v them. 

As the beauty of the body always accompanies the health' of 
it — so is decency of behaviour a concomitant to virtue\ 

Sympathising with the hatred and abhorrence which other' 
men must entertain for him — the murderer becomes in some 
measure the object of his own hatred and abhorrence\ 

Formed to excel in peace as well as in war' — Caesar was en- 
dowed with every great and noble quality, that could give a man 
the ascendant insociety\ 



* Mr. Walker's rule of the loose sentence is altogether superfluous. The in- 
flection is governed by the completeness of the sense ; and that is all we have 
to take into consideration.— J. S, Kkowles. 

B 



38 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

To all the charms of beauty and the utmost elegance of ex- 
ternal form', Mary added those accomplishments which render 
their impression irresistible\ 

Your enemies may be formidable by their numbers and by 
their power', but He, who is with you, is mightier than they\ 

No man can rise above the infirmities of nature', unless as- 
sisted by God\ 

NEGATIVE SENTENCE. 
Rule VI. Negative sentences, and negative members 
of sentences, when they do not conclude a paragraph, re- 
quire the rising inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

You are not left alone' to climb the arduous ascent — God is 
with you ; who never sutlers the spirit which rests on him to 
fail, nor the man who seeks his favour to seek it in vain. v 

I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness'; 
I never gave you kingdoms' ; call'd you children' ; 
You owe me no subscription ; why, then, let fall 
Your horrible pieasure v : here I stand — your slave — 
A poor', infirm', weak", and despised old man\ 

Virtue is of intrinsic value' and good desert v ; not the crea- 
ture of will', but necessary and immutable v ; not local', or, tem- 
porary', but of equal extent' and antiquity with the divine mind v ; 
not a mode of sensation', but everlasting truth v ; not dependent 
on power', but the guide of all power\ 

I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye', — 
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow v : 
I'll say, 'tis not the lark, whose notes do beat 
The vaulty heaven, so high above our heads" : 
Come, Death ! and welcome ! Juliet wills it so\ 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
death', I will fear no evil", for, thou art with me\ 

Let us walk honestly', as in the day v ; not in rioting', and 
drunkenness', not in chambering' and wantonness', not in strife', 
and envying" ; but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make 
not provision for the flesh', to fulfil the lusts thereol\ 

Seems, madame' ! nay, it is v ; I know not seems\ 
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother', 
Nor customary suits of solemn black', 
Nor windy suspiration of fore 'd breath', 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye', 
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage', 



39 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

Together with all forms', modes', shows of grief",. 
That can denote me truly' : these, indeed, seem', 
For they are actions, that a man might play' ; 
But I have that within which passeth show' : 
These, but the trappings', and the suits of wo\ 

Rule VII. When a series of negative sentences con- 
cludes a paragraph, the last member of the series takes the 
falling inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

In death', the poor man' lays down', at last', the burden of 
his wearisome life". No more shall he hear the insolent calls 
of the master', from whom he received his scanty wages'. No 
more shall he be raised from needful slumber on his bed of 
straw', nor be hurried away from his homely meal", to undergo 
the repeated labours of the day\ 

Duncan is in his grave' ; 

After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well'; 

Treason has done his worst': nor poison, 

Malice domestic', foreign levy', nothing" 

Can touch him further' ! 

CONCESSION, 

Rule VIII. A concession should take the rising in- 
flection. 

EXAMPLES. 

Painting', poetry', eloquence', and every other art, on which 
the genius of mankind has exercised itself, may be abused', and 
prove dangerous in the hands of bad men" ; but it were ridicu- 
lous to contend', that, on this account', they ought to be abol- 
ished'. 

One' may be a speaker', both of much reputation', and much 
influence', in the cairn', argumentative manner"; to attain the 
pathetic' and the sublime of oratory', requires those strong sen- 
sibilities of mind', and that high power of expression', which 
are given to few'. 

This', however', I say concerning the Greeks' — 1 grant them 
learning', and the knowledge of many sciences" ; I do not de- 
ny that they have wit', tine genius', and eloquence"; nay, if 
they lay claim to many other excellences', I shall not contest 
their title" ; but this I must say ; that nation' never paid a 
proper regard to the religious sanctity of public evidence', and 
are total strangers to the obligation', authority", and import- 
ance of truth'. 

b2 



40 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

PARENTHESIS. 

Rule IX. A parenthesis must be read more quickly, 
and in a lower tone of voice, than those parts of the sen- 
tence, which precede and follow it. 

EXAMFLES. 

Know ye not, brethren' — for, I speak to them that know the 
law'— that the law' hath dominion over a man' as long as he 
liveth"? 

If envious people were to ask themselves', whether they 
would exchange their situations with the persons envied', (I 
mean their minds', passions', notions', as well as their persons', 
fortunes', and dignities',) I believe the self love common to 
human nature', would, generally, make them prefer their own 
condition\ 

If there's a God above us' — 

And that there is', all nature cries aloud', 

Through all her works" — He must delight in virtue v ; 

And that which He' delights' in, must be happy \ 

But to my mind — though I am native here 

And to the manner born, — it is a custom 

More honour'd in the breach than in the observance. 

For God is my witness' — whom I serve with my spirit in the 
gospel of his Son' — that without ceasing' I make mention of 
you in my prayers, making request' — if by any means now at 
length I might have a prosperous journey, by the will' of God 
— to come unto you. 

A ball now hisses through the airy tides, 
(Some fury wings it, and some demon guides) 
Parts the fine locks her graceful head that deck, 
Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck. 

Then went the captain', with the officers', and brought them 
without violence (for they feared the people, lest they should 
be stoned' ;) and when they had brought them', they set them 
before the council'. 

Let us (since life can little more supply 

Than just to look about us and to die), 

Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man ; 

A mighty maze ! but not without a plan. * 

Should you fall in the struggle, should the nation fall, you 
will have the satisfaction (the purest allotted to man) of having 
performed your part. 



PRINCIPLES OP ELOCUTION. 41 

Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die' — 
(Twas even to thee N ) — yet, the dread path once trod, 
Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high, 
And bids " the pure in heart behold their God." 

SERIES. 

A series is a number of particulars, immediately fol- 
lowing one another, whether independent, (1), or having 
one common reference, (2). 

EXAMPLES. 

(1) The wind and rain are over v ; Calm is the noon v of day : 
The clouds are divided' in heaven ; Over the green hill flies the 
inconstant sun' : Red through the stony vale conies down the 
stream of the JiilT. 

(2) The characteristics of chivalry were — valour v , humanity', 
courtesy', justice', and honour". 

When the members of a series consist of several words, 
as in the former for example, the series is called compound ; 
when of single words,* as in the latter, it is called simple. 

When a series begins a sentence, but does not end it, it 
is called a commencing series ; when it ends it, whether 
it begins it or not, it is called a concluding series. 

COMMENCING SERIES. 

Rule X. Each particular of a commencing series takes 
the rising inflection — with this special observance, that the 
last particular must have a greater degree of inflection, 
thereby intimating, that the enumeration is finished. 

EXAMPLES. 

Beauty', strength', youth', and old age", lie undistinguished, 
in the same promiscuous heap of matter'. 

Hatred', malice, and anger", are passions, unbecoming a dis- 
ciple of Christ". 

Regulation', proportion', order', and colour", contribute to 
grandeur as well as to beauty'. 

* The addition of an article, a preposition, or a conjunction, does not 
render a scries compound; nor the introduction of a compound member, 
when the majority of the members are simple. 

b3 



42 THE ELOCUTIONIST, 

Whither shall I go from thy Spirit" ? or, whither shall I flee 
from thy presence" ? If I ascend up into Heaven', thou art 
there" ; if I make my bed in hell', behold, Thou art there." It' 
I take the wings of the morning', and dwell in the uttermost 
parts of the sea", even there shall thy hand lead me', and thy 
right hand shall hold me". If I say', Surely the darkness' shall 
cover me', even the night" shall be light about me". Yea, the 
darkness' hidethnot from Thee;" but the night shineth as the 
day" : the darkness' and the light' are both alike to Thee." 

The verdant lawn', the shady grove', the variegated land- 
scape', the boundless ocean', and the starry firmament", are con- 
templated with pleasure by every beholder". 

I conjure you', by that which you profess', 

(Howe'er you come to know it') answer me" : 

Though you untie the winds', and let them fight 

Against the churches" ; though the yesty waves' 

Confound, and swallow navigation up"; 

Though bladed corn be lodged', and trees blown down" % 

Though castles topple on their warders' heads', 

Though palaces and pyramids' do slope 

Their heads to their foundations" ; though the treasure 

Of nature's germins' tumble all together, 

Ev'n till destruction sicken" — answer me 

To what I ask you'. 

CONCLUDING SERIES, 

Rule XL Each particular of a concluding series, ex- 
cept the last, takes the rising inflection. The particular pre- 
ceding the last requires a greater degree of the rising in- 
flection than the others, thereby intimating, that the next 
particular will close the enumeration. The last is pro- 
nounced with the falling inflection. 

EXAMPLES* 

They, through faith, subdued kingdoms', wrought righteous- 
ness', obtained promises', stopped the mouths of lions', quench- 
ed the violence of fire', escaped the edge of the sword', out of 
weakness were made strong', waxed valiant in fight", and turn- 
ed to flight the armies of the aliens". 

Where'er he turns', he meets a stranger's eye ; 

His suppliants scorn him', and his followers fly v ; 

Now, drops at once the pride of awful state', 

The golden canopy', the glittering plate', 

The regal palace', the luxurious board', 

The liv'ried army", and the menial lord. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 43 

True gentleness' teaches us to bear one another's burdens', 
to rejoice with those' who rejoice', to weep with those' who 
weep' ; to please every one his neighbour' for his good' ; to be 
kind'; and tender-hearted'; to be pitiful' and courteous' ; to sup- 
port the weak" ; and to be patient towards all men'. 

What though no weeping loves' thy ashes grace', 
Nor polished marble' emulate thy face" ? 
What though no sacred earth allow thee room\ 
Nor hallow'd dirge' be mutter'd o'er thy tomb' ? 
Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be drest', 
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast' ! 
There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow", 
And the first roses of the year' shall blow'. 

EMPHASIS. 

Rule XII. Emphasis, in the most usual sense of the 
word, is that stress with which certain words are pronoun-* 
ced, so as to be distinguished from the rest of the sentence. 
Among the number of words we make use of in discourse, 
there will always be some, which are more necessary to be 
understood than others : those things, with which we sup* 
pose our hearers to be pre^acquainted, we express by such 
a subordination of stress as is suitable to the small impor* 
tance of things already understood ; while those, of which 
our hearers are either not fully informed, or which they 
might possibly misconceive, are enforced with such an in~ 
crease of stress as makes it impossible for the hearer to 
overlook or mistake them. Thus,- as it were in a picture, 
the more essential parts of a sentence are raised, as it were, 
from the level of speaking ; and the less necessary are, by 
this means, sunk into a comparative obscurity. 

EXAMPLES. 

A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of his 
own heart' ; his next, to escape the censures of the world'. 

It will be difficult for her to retain the decorous and dignified 
semblance of love for him', who has cared but little for the real" 
ity of it\ 

Those governments which curb not evils', cause" ! 
And a rich knave's' a libel on our laws'. 
Religion' raises men above themselves" : Irreligion' sinks 
them beneath the brutes\ 
b4 



44 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

We must forget all feelings' save the one y — 
We must resign all passions' save our purpose — 
We must behold no object' save our country^. 

NOTE. 

Emphasis, according to Knowles, is of two kinds, abso- 
lute and relative. Relative emphasis has always an antithe- 
sis, either expressed or implied : absolute emphasis takes 
place, when the peculiar eminence of the thought is solely 
— singly considered. 

'Twas base and poor, unworthy of & peasant, 
To forge a scroll so villainous and loose, 
And mark it with a noble lady's name. 

Here we have an example of relative emphasis ; for, if 
the thought were expressed at full, it would stand thus : — 

Unworthy not only of a gentleman, but even of a peasant. 

'Twas base and poor, unworthy of a man, 
To forge a scroll so villainous and loose, 
And mark it with a noble lady's name. 

Here we have an example of absolute emphasis ; for, if 
the thought w r ere expressed at full, it would stand thus : — 

Unworthy a being composed of such perfections as constitute 
a man. 

When we w r ish to give a phrase with the utmost possi- 
ble force, not only every word which enters into the com- 
position of it, becomes emphatic, but even the parts of com- 
pound words are pronounced as if they were independ- 
ent. 

EXAMPLES. 

There was a time, then, my fellow citizens, when the Lace- 
demonians were sovereign masters both by sea and land ; 
when their troops and forts surrounded the entire circuit of At- 
tica ; when they possessed Eubcea, Tanagra, the whole Boeotian 
district, Megara, iEgina, Cleone, and the other islands ; while 
this State had not one ship — no, not — one — wall. 

That's truly great ! what think you 'twas set up 
The Greek and Roman name in such a lustre, 
But doing right in stern despite of nature; 
Shutting their ears 'gainst all her little cries, 
When great, august, and godlike justice call'd ! 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 45 

At Aulis — one pour'd out a daughter's life, 

And gain'd more glory than by all his wars ! 

Another slew a sister in just rage ! 

A third, the theme of all succeeding time, 

Gave to the cruel axe a darling son ! 

Nay, some for virtue have entomb'd themselves, 

As he of Carthage — an immortal name ! 

But there is one — step — left — above them all ! 

Above their history, above their fable ! 

A wife ! — bride ! — mistress unenjoy'd ! — Do that ! 

And tread upon the Greek and Roman glory! 

CLIMAX. 

Rule XIII. A climax must be read, or pronounced 
with the voice progressively ascending to the last mem- 
ber ; accompanied with increasing energy, animation or 
pathos, corresponding with the nature of the subject* 

EXAMPLES. 

It is pleasant to be virtuous and good, because that is to ex- 
cel many others'; it is pleasant to grow better, because that is to 
excel ourselves'; it is pleasant to mortify and subdue our lusts, 
because that is victory'; it is pleasant to command our appe- 
tites' and passions', and to keep them in due order', within the 
bounds of reason and religion", because that is empire\ 

See, what a grace was seated on this brow ! 
Hyperion's curls'; the front of Jove himself: 
An eye like Mars', to threaten and command'; 
A station like the herald Mercury", 
New lighted on a heaven-kissing hhT* 
A combination' and a form' indeed, 
Where every god' did seem to set his seal", 
To give the world assurance of a man\ 

If I were an American as I am an Englishman, while a for- 
eign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down 
my arms — never\ never', never\ 

Come, shew me what thou'lt do\* 

Woul't weep'? Woul't fight'? Woul't fast'? Woul't tear 

thyself" ? 
I'll do v 't. Dost thou come here to whine'? 
To outface me with leaping in her grave'? 
Be buried quick with her', and so will P ! 
And if thou prate of mountains', let them throw 
Millions of acres on us', till our ground, 
b5 



46 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Singeing his pate against the burning zone'', 
Make Ossa like a wart\ ? Nay, an thou'lt mouth', 
I'll rant as well as thou N ! 

His display of this day has reflected the highest honour on 
himself, lustre upon letters', renown upon parliament", glory 
upon the country\ 

We are called upon as members of this house\ as men', as 
Christians", to protest against this horrible barbarity. 

ANTI-CLIMAX. 

Rule XIV. An anti-climax should be read with decreas- 
ing energy, as you proceed ; until the last member, being 
strongly emphatic, takes a fall instead of a rise. 

EXAMPLE. 

What must the king do now"? must he submit'? 
The king shall do if: must he be depos'd'? 
The king shall be eontented v : must he lose 
The name of king'? — let it go"! 
I'll give my jewels for a set of beads"; 
My gorgeous palace' for a hermitage v ; 
My gay apparel', for an almsman's gown"; 
My figur'd goblets', for a dish of wood v ; 
My sceptre', for a painter's walking staff"; 
My subjects', for a pair of carved saints v : 
And my large kingdom', for a little grave": — 
A little', little grave v — an obscure grave\ 

ECHO, OR REPETITION. 

Rule XV. The repetition of a word or thought intro- 
ductory to some particulars, requires the high rising in- 
flection, and a long pause after it This is frequently the 
language of excitement; the mind recurs to the exciting 
idea, and acquires fresh intensity from the repetition of it. 

EXAMPLES. 

Can parliament be so dead to its dignity and duty, as to give 
its sanction to measures thus obtruded and forced upon them ? 
measures', my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing 
kingdom to scorn and contempt. 

Shall I, who was born, I might almost say, but certainly 
brought up, in the tent of my father, that most excellent gen- 
eral — shall T, the conqueror of Spain and Gaul, and not only 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 47 

of the Alpine nations, but of the Alps themselves ; shall P* 
compare myself with this half-year captain ? A captain ! before 
whom should one place the two armies without their ensigns, 
I am persuaded he would not know to which of them he is 
consul. 

Tell them I grieve not for my death — 
Grieve ! — Ours hath been a race of steel; 

Stedfast and stem — yea, fixed in faith, 
Though doom'd Power's scourge to feel. 
What motive, then, could have such influence in their bo- 
som v ? What motive'? Thai', which Nature, the common pa- 
rent', plants in the bosom of man\ and which, though it may 
be less active in the Indian' than in the Englishman', is still 
congenial with' and makes part of hisbeing\ 

Banish'd from Rome ? What's banish? d" but set free 

From daily contact of the things I loathe ? 

CIRCUMFLEX. 

Rule XVI. A certain sort of emphasis, which unites 
the rising and falling inflection on the same word, is call" 
ed circumflex. 

When the word terminates with the rising inflection, it 
is called the rising circumflex : if with the falling inflec- 
tion, the falling circumflex. 

The rising circumflex is marked thus, v, the falling, 
thus, A. 

EXAMPLES. 

Yes ; they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who 
are themselves the slaves of passion', avarice", and pride\ 

Queen. Hamlet, you have your father much offended. 

— A 

Hamlet. Mother, you have my father much offended. 

V 

Most courteous tyrants ! Romans ! rare patterns of humanity v| 

V A 

If you said so, then I said so. 

MONOTONE. 
Rule XVII. When ivords are not varied by inflection, 
they are said to be pronounced in a Monotone. This is 
used when anything awful or sublime is to be expressed. 

* The last shall i may be considered as emphatic— the height of the climax— 
and of course takes the strong falling slide. 

b6 



48 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

EXAMPLES. 

when he comes', 
Rous'd by the cry of wickedness extreme', 
To heaven ascending from some guilty land', 
Now, ripe for vengeance^; when he comes, array 1 d 
In all the terrors of Almighty wrath', — 
Forth from his bosom plucks his lingering arm', 
And on the miscreants pours destruction down", 
Who can abide his coming^? Who can bear 
His whole displeasured 

High on a throne of royal state, which far 
Outshone the wealth otOrmus, and of Ind, 
Or where the gorgeous east, with richest hand, 
Showers on her kings barbaric, pearls and gold, 
Satan exalted sat ! 

And in the bright blaze of thy festal hall', 

When vassals kneel, and kindred smile around thee', 

May ruin'd Bertram's pledge hiss in thine ear' — 

Joy to the proud dame of Si. Aldobrand' ', 

While his cold corse doth bleach beneath her towers^! 

Oh, crested Lochiel, the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height'! 
Heaven's fire is around thee to blast and to burn. 



EXAMPLES 

MARKED IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE FOREGOING RULES. 

I. 

THE EARTH. 

To us\ who dwell on its surface', the earth' is by far' the 
most extensive' orb that our eyes' can any' where behokT; it is 
also clothed' with verdure\ distinguished by trees', and adorned' 
with a variety' of beautiful' decorations' ; whereas', to a spec- 
tator' placed on one of the planets', it wears a uniform' aspect ; 
looks v all luminous', and no larger' than a spot\ To beings' 
who dwell at still greater' distances, it entirely disappears'. 
That' which we call alternately the morning v and the evening' 
star, as in one' part of the orbit' she rides' foremost' in the pro- 
cession' of night', in the other' ushers in' and anticipates' the 
dawn', is a planetary' world' which', with the four others' that 
so wonderfully vary their mystic dance', are in themselves dark v 
bodies, and shine' only by reflection', have fields', and seas', and 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 49 

skies' of their own v ; are furnished' with all accommodations^ 
for animal subsistence', and are supposed v to "be the abodes' of 
intellectual life v ; all which\ together with our earthly' habi- 
tation, are dependent' on that grand dispensed of divine muni- 
ficence'* the sun v ; receive' their light' from the distribution of 
his rays', and derive' their comfort' from his benign' agency \ 

II. 

HEALTH. 

Health' is so necessary' to all' the duties', as well as plea- 
sures' of life, that the crime' of squandering' it is equal' to the 
folly' ; and he\ that, for a short gratification', brings weakness' 
and diseases' upon himself, and for the pleasures' of a few 
years' passed in the tumults' of diversion' and clamours' of 
merriment', condemns the matured and more experienced' part 
of his life to the chamber v and the couch', may be justly' re- 
proached\ not only as a spendthrift' of his own happiness', but 
as a robber' of the public' ; as a wretch v that has voluntarily^ 
disqualified' himself for the business of his station', and re- 
fused' that part' which Providence' assigns' him in the general 
task' of human' nature'* 

There are perhaps' very few' conditions more to be pitied' 
than that' of an active"" and elevated' mind', labouring v under 
the weight' of a distempered body v ; the time' of such a man' 
is always spent' in forming schemes', which a change' of wind' 
hinders' him from executing' ; his powers' fume' away' in pro- 
jects' and in hope', and the day x of action' never' arrives'. He 
lies v down' delighted' with the thoughts' of to-morrow', pleases' 
his ambition' with the fame' he shall acquire', or his benevo- 
lence' with the good' he shall confer'. But in the night', the 
skies' are overcast\ the temper^ of the air' is changed' ; he wakes 
in languor", impatience v , and distraction', and has no longer' any 
wish' but for ease', nor any attention' but to misery'. It may 
be said v that disease' generally begins' that equality' which 
death' completes^; the distinctions which set one' man so much 
above another' are very little v perceived in the gloom' of a siek'- 
chamber', where' it will be vain' to expect entertainment' from 
the gay', or instruction' from the wise' ; when all human glory' 
is obliterated', the wit is clouded\ the reasoner perplexed', and 
the hero subdued' ; where the highest and brightest' of mortal 
beings finds no things left' him but the consciousness' of inno- 
cence'. 

IIL 

THE TONGUE. 

By the use of the tongue', God' hath distinguished' us from 
beasts', and by the well v or ill' using of it, we are distinguish- 
ed' from one another^ ; and, therefore\ though silence be inno- 



50 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

cent as death', harmless' as a rose's breath" to a distant' passen- 
ger', yet it is ratner' the state' of death" than life' ; and, there- 
fore', when the Egyptians sacrificed to Harpocrates\ their god 
of silence', in the midst' of their rites they cried out\ " the 
tongue' is an angel"," good" or bad', that is' as it happens" ; 
silence v was to them a god', but the tongue' is greater" ; it is 
the band" of human intercourse', and makes men apt' to unite 
in societies' and republics" : and I remember' what' one' of the 
ancients" said, that we are better" in the company" of a known 
dog' than of a man' whose speech' is not known ; for by voices' 
and homilies", by questions' and answers", by narratives' and in- 
vectives", by counsel' and reproof", by praises' and hymns", by 
prayers" and glorifications', we serve God's" glory', and the ne- 
cessities' of men" ; and by the tongue', our tables' are made" to 
differ' from mangers", our cities" from deserts', our churches" 
from hordes of beasts' and flocks' of sheep". Since nature' 
hath taught" us to speak, and God" requires' it, and our thank 
fulness' obliges" us, and our necessities" engage' us, and charity' 
sometimes calls" for it, and innocence" is to be defended', and 
we are to speak" in the cause" of the oppressed", and open our 
mouths" in the cause of God' ; and it is always' a seasonable" 
prayer, that God' would open our lips" that our mouth may do 
the'work of heaven", and declare' his praises", and show forth" 
his glory' ; it concerns' us to take care" that nature" be changed' 
into grace", necessity" into choice', that", while we speak" the 
greatness' of God", and minister to the needs" of our neigh- 
bours', and do the works' of life' and religion", of society" and 
prudence', we may be fitted' to bear a part" in the songs" of the 
angels', when they shall rejoice' at the feast" of the marriage' 
supper of the Lamb". 

IV. 

THE DEPARTED SPIRITS OP THE JUST ARE SPECTATORS OF OUR CON- 
DUCT ON EARTH. 

From what happened on the Mount of Transfiguration", we 
may infer", not only that the separated spirits of good' men" 
live' and act", and enjoy happiness" ; but that they take some in- 
terest in the business of this' world, and even that their interest" 
in it has a connection" with the pursuits" and habits' of their for- 
mer" life. The virtuous cares which occupied them on earth', 
follow them into their new" abode. Moses and Elias" had 
spent the days of their' temporal pilgrimage in promoting 
among their brethren', the knowledge" and the worship' of the 
true God". They are still" attentive to the same great object; 
and, enraptured" at the prospect of its advancement', they de- 
scend" on this occasion" to animate" the labours" of Jesus', and to 
prepare him for his victory' over the powers of hell". 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 51 

What a delightful subject of contemplation' does this reflec- 
tion open' to the pious' and benevolent' mind ! what a spring' 
does it give to all the better energies of the heart' ! Your la- 
bours of love\ your plans of beneficence', your swellings of sat- 
isfaction' in the rising reputation of those whose virtues you 
have cherished', will not, we have reason' to hope, be termina- 
ted' by the stroke' of death\ No' ! — your spirits will still linger 
around the objects of their former attachment ; they will be- 
hold with rapture, even the distant' effects of those beneficent 
institutions' which they once' delighted' to rear' ; they will 
watch with a pious satisfaction over the growing prosperity of 
the country' which they loved' ; with a parent's fondness', and 
a parent's exultation', they will share' in the fame v of their vir- 
tuous' posterity' ; and — by the permission of God' — they may 
descend' at times', as guardian' angels', to shield them from 
danger', and to conduct' them to glory' ! 

Of all' the thoughts' that can enter the human mind', this' is 
one of the most animating' and consolatory'. It scatters flow- 
ers' around the bed of death'. It enables us' who are left be- 
hind', to support with firmness', the departure' of our best 
beloved friends', because it teaches' us that they are not lost to 
us for ever'. They are still' our friends. Though they be now 
gone to another' apartment in our Father's house, they have 
carried' with them the remembrance' and the feeling' of their 
former' attachments'. Though invisible' to us — they bend from 
their dwelling on high', to cheer' us in our pilgrimage' of duty', 
to rejoice' with us in our prosperity', and, in the hour of virtu- 
ous' exertion', to shed through our souls', the blessedness' of 
heaven'. Finlayson. 

ON STUDY. 

Studies' serve' for delight', for ornament', and for ability\ 
Their chief use for delight', is in privateness' and retiring' ; for 
ornament', is in discourse' ; and for ability', is in the judg- 
ment and disposition' of business'. For expert' men can exe- 
cute', and perhaps judge' of particulars, one' by one'; but the ge- 
neral' counsels', and the plots', and marshalling' of affairs, come v 
best' from those' that are learned'. To spend too' much time' in 
studies is sloth' ; to use' them too much for ornament', is af- 
fectation' ; to make judgment wholly' by their rules, is the hu- 
mour' of a scholar'. They perfect' nature*, and are perfected' 
by experience' ; for natural' abilities' are like natural plants', 
that need pruning by study' ; and studies themselves' do give 
forth directions' too much at large', except they be bounded' in' 
by experience'. 

Crafty' men contemn' studies, simple' men admire' them, and 
wise' men use v them ; for they teach not their own' use, but 



52 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

others,' to be swallowed' ; and some v few', to be chewed' and 
digested': that is, some' books are to be read only in parts'; 
others', to be read' — but not curiously' ; and some v few', to be 
read wholly', and with diligence' and attention\ Some books 
also may be read by deputy', and extracts of them made by 
others 7 ; but that should be only in the less' important argu- 
ments, and the meaner' sort of books ; else distilled' books' are 
like common' distilled' waters' — flashy' things'. 

Reading' maketh a full' man ; conference' a ready' man ; and 
writing' an exact' man. And, therefore, if a man write' little, he 
had need have present' wit' ; if he confer' little, he had need have 
a good' memory'; and if he read' little, he had need have much' 
cunning' to seem' to know' that he doth not'. Bacon. 

VI. 

CHARACTER OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

To all' the^ charms' of beauty' and the utmost' elegance' of ex- 
ternal' form', Mary' added' those' accomplishments' which ren- 
der' their impression' irresistible'. Polite', affable', insinuating', 
sprightly', and capable of speaking' and of writing' with equal' 
ease' and dignity' ; sudden', however, and violent' in all her 
attachments', because her heart' was warm' and unsuspicious' ; 
impatient' of contradiction', because' she had been accustom- 
ed' from her infancy' to be treated as a queen ; no' stranger', 
on some' occasions, to dissimulation' ; which', in that' perfidious' 
court' where she received' her education', was reckoned' among 
the necessary' arts of government ; not' insensible' to flattery', 
or unconscious' of that' pleasure' with which almost every' wo- 
man' beholds' the influence' of her own' beauty' ; formed' with 
the qualities' that we love', not' with the talents' that we ad- 
mire' — she was an agreeable' woman', rather' than an illustri- 
ous' queen'. 

The vivacity' of her spirit', not sufficiently' tempered' with 
sound' judgment' ; and the warmth' of her heart', which # was 
not at all' times under the restraint' of discretion' ; betrayed' 
her both into errors', and into crimes'. To say' that she was 
always' unfortunate', will not account' for that long' and almost 
uninterrupted' succession of calamities', which befel her; we 
must likewise' add', that she was often' imprudent'. Her 
passion' for Darnley' was rash', youthful', and excessive' ; and, 
though the sudden' transition' to the opposite' extreme' was the 
natural' consequence' of her' ill-requited' love', and of his' in- 
gratitude', insolence', and brutality'; yet neither these', nor 
BothwellV artful' addresses' and important' services', can jus- 
tify' her attachment' to that' nobleman'. Even the manners' of 
the age', licentious' as they were,' are no apology for this' un- 
happy passion ; nor can they induce' us to look' on that tragi- 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 53 

gratitude', insolence\ and brutality' ; yet neither these\ nor 
Bothwell's' artful' addresses v and important services', can justi- 
tify' her attachment' to that' nobleman'. Even the manners' of 
the age', licentious' as they were', are no apology for this' un- 
happy passion ; nor can they induce' us to look' on that tragi- 
cal' and infamous' scene' which followed' it, with less' abhor- 
renee\ Humanity' will draw' a veil' over this' part of her cha- 
racter, which it cannot approve' ; and may' perhaps' prompt' 
some' to impute her actions' to her situation', more' than to her 
disposition' ; and to lament the unhappiness' of the former', ra- 
ther than accuse' the perverseness' of the latter\ 

MaryV sufferings' exceed', both' in degree' and duration', 
those tragical' distresses' which fancy N has feigned', to excite 
sorrow' and commiseration' ; and, while we survey' them, we 
are apt altogether' to forget' her frailties ; we think' of her faults' 
with less indignation', and approve' of our tears', as if they were 
shed' for a person' who had attained' much' nearer' to pure vir- 
tue'. " No' man," says Brantome', " ever' beheld' her person' 
without admiration' and love', or will read' her history' ^with- 
out sorrow'." Robertson. 

VII. 

BRETHREN SHOULD DWELL TOGETHER IN HARMONY. 

Two' brothers,' named Timon' and Demetrius', having quar- 
relled' with each other, Socrates,' their common friend', was 
solicitous' to restore' amity' between them. Meeting, therefore, 
with Demetrius', he thus' accosted' him : " Is not friendship' the 
sweetest' solace in adversity', and the greatest' enhancement' of 
the blessings of prosperity' V* •' Certainly' it is," replied De- 
metrius ; " because our sorrows' are diminished', and our joys' 
increased', by sympathetic participation." "Amongst whom, 
then, must we look' for a friend (" said Socrates. " Would 
you search among strangers' ? — They cannot be interested' 
about you. Amongst your rivals' ? — They have an interest in 
opposition' to yours. Amongst those who are much older' or 
younger' than yourself? — Their' feelings' and pursuits' will be 
widely different' from yours. Are there not, then, some' circum- 
stances' favourable', and others' essential', to the formation of 
friendship' ?" " Undoubtedly' there are," answered Demetrius. 
" May we not enumerate'," continued Socrates, " amongst the 
circumstances favourable' to friendship, long acquaintance', 
common connections', similitude of age', and union of interest' ? ,f 
" I acknowledge','' said Demetrius, " the powerful' influence' of 
these' circumstances'; but they' may subsist', and yet' others v 
be wanting', that are essential' to mutual amity." " And 
what'," said Socrates, " are those' essentials' which are want- 
ing' in Timon' ?" " He has forfeited' my esteem' and attach- 



54 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

menty ' answered Demetrius. " And has he also' forfeited the 
esteem and attachment of the rest' of mankind? Is he devoid 
of benevolence', generosity', gratitude', and other' social af- 
fections ?" " Far' be it from me'," cried Demetrius, " to lay so 
heavy' a charge upon him. His conduct to others', is', I be- 
lieve', irreproachable v ; whence it wounds me the more\ that 
he should single" me" out' as the object' of his unkindness"." — 
" Suppose' you have a very valuable' horse"," resumed Socra- 
tes, " gentle' under the treatment' of others", but ungovernable' 
when you' attempt to use him ; would you not endeavour", by 
all s means', to conciliate' his affection, and to treat' him in the 
way most likely to render him tractable' ?— Or if you have a 
dog", highly prized for his fidelity', watchfulness', and care' of 
your flocks' ; who is fond" of your shepherds', and playful" with 
them; and yet snarls" whenever' you' come in his way ; would 
you attempt to cure' him of his fault, by angry looks or words, 
or any other' marks of resentment ? You would surely pursue 
an opposite' course with him. And is not the friendship of a bro- 
ther' of far' more' worth' than the services' of a horse', or the 
attachment' of a dog' ? Why\ then, do you delay v to put in 
practice' those" means' which may reconcile' you to Timon" ?" 
"Acquaint me with those means," answered Demetrius; " for 
I am a stranger to them." " Answer me a few questions"," 
said Socrates. " If you desire" that one of your neighbours 
should invite' you to his feast\ when he offers a sacrifice', what 
course v would you take ?" — " I would first" invite' him to mineV , 
" And how would you induce' him to take the charge of your 
affairs", when you are on a journey" ?" — " I should be forward 
to do the same' good office to him\ in his absence." " If you 
be solicitous to remove a prejudice' which he may have re- 
ceived against you, how would you then" behave towards him?" 
— " I should endeavour to convince" him, by my looks", words", 
and actions', that such" prejudice' was iU'-founded\" "And, 
if he appeared" inclined" to reconciliation', would you reproach' 
him with the injustice he had done you ?" — " No !" answered 
Demetrius ; " I would repeat" no" grievances'." " Go'," said So- 
crates, " and pursue" that' conduct" towards" your brother', which 
you would practise to a neighbour". His' friendship is of ines- 
timable" worth ; and nothing" is more' lovely" in the sight of 
Heaven', than for brethren' to dwell' together in unity"." 

• Per rival. 



THE ELOCUTIONIST. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 



LESSON I. 

Futwe Prospects of the American Continent. — Encyclope- 
dia Britannica. 

It was the astonishing progress of the United States 
that first clearly unfolded the principles on which the mul- 
tiplication of human beings depends. We know with 
Certainty that a prosperous community, possessing abun- 
dance of unoccupied land, will double its numbers in twen- 
ty-five years, without aid from emigration ; and, as the scale 
ascends in a geometrical ratio, a short time necessarily pro- 
duces a wonderful change. In the United States the whites 
increase at the rate of three or three and a half per cent, 
per annum; and when the Spanish American republics 
have settled down in a tranquil state, there is no doubt that 
their white inhabitants will multiply at the same rate. 

In 1830, the entire white population being estimated at 
twenty-one millions, this number, in 1855, will be increased 
to forty-two millions ; in 1880, to eighty-four millions ; in 
1905, to one hundred and sixty-eight millions ; and in 1930, 
to three hundred and thirty millions. As the difficulty of 
providing for the growing animal increment of inhabitants 
must increase with the magnitude of the population, let us 
assume, that at the end of a century, the rate of increase 
falls to two per cent. The period of doubling will then 
be thirty-six years ; consequently, the white population in 



56 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

1966, will be six hundred and seventy-two millions; in 
2002, it will be one billion three hundred and forty-four 
millions ; and in 2030, it will bet wo billions six hundred and 
eighty-eight millions. 

Thus, in two centuries, the whites now in America 
would multiply to a mass of people three times as great as 
are at present on the whole surface of the globe. Of the 
thirty-one millions of square miles which compose Europe, 
Asia and Africa, we cannot find that the, productive soil 
constitutes so much as one-third, and of that third a part 
is poor. The whole surface of the American continent 
contains thirteen millions nine hundred thousand square 
miles, and deducting three millions nine hundred thousand 
as arid soil, there are left ten millions as soil of a produc- 
tive quality. 

The degree of productiveness depends on climate ; it 
follows, that if the natural resources of America were fully 
developed, it would afford sustenance to three billions six 
hundred millions of inhabitants — a number five times as 
great as the entire mass of human beings existing at pre- 
sent upon the globe. And what is more surprising, there 
is every probability that this prodigious population will be 
in existence within three, or, at most, four centuries. The 
imagination is lost in contemplating a state of things which 
will make so great and rapid a change in the condition of 
the world. 

We almost fancy that it is a dream ; and yet the result 
is based on principles quite as certain as those which gov- 
ern the conduct of men in their ordinary pursuits. There 
are many elements of disorder now operating in Spanish 
America, but these are merely the dregs left by the old 
Spanish despotisms ; and the Anglo-American republic is a 
pole-star to guide the people in their course towards free- 
dom and prosperity. 

Nearly all social improvements spring from the recipro- 
cal influence of condensed numbers and diffused intelli- 
gence. What, then, will be the state of society in Amer- 
ica two centuries hence, when a thousand millions of civil- 
ized men are crowded into a space comparatively so nar- 
row, and when this immense mass of human beings speak 
only two languages, or what is as likely, only one language, 
the English % History shows that wealth, power, science, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION, 57 

literature, all follow in the train of numbers, general intel- 
ligence and freedom. 

The same causes which transferred the sceptre of civili- 
zation from the banks of the Euphrates and the Nile to 
western Europe, must in the course of no long period, 
carry it from the latter to the plains of the Mississippi and 
the Amazon.— Society, after all, is in its infancy ; the hab- 
itable world, when its productive powers are regarded, 
may be said hitherto to have been an untenanted waste. 

If any one suspects us of drawing on our fancy, we 
would request him to examine thoroughly the condition 
and past progress of the North American Republic. Let 
him look at its amazing strides in wealth, intelligence, and 
social improvement; at its indestructible liberty; and 
above all, at the prodigious growth of its population — and 
let him answer the question to himself, what power can 
stop the tide of civilization which is pouring from its sin- 
gle source over an unoccupied world ] 



LESSON II. 
Human Progress. — Chapin. 

Let us clearly understand what is meant by Human Pro- 
gress. It must be distinctly separated from the doctrine of 
Human Perfectibility. That men in this world will ever 
be, in all respects, perfect, is one doctrine — and that men 
will pass from lower degrees of excellence up to higher, 
and maintain their advantage, is another doctrine. This 
last is the doctrine of Human Progress. That our age 
holds an amount of refinement and civilization that prece- 
ding ages did not have, seems evident. We may not see 
minutely how this operation of human progress goes on — 
we may not be able to trace the transfusion of the good 
and the true through every particle and member. But we 
see the grand result. 

So the great ocean comes on imperceptibly. Men build 
their huts at the foot of some huge mountain, and till the 
green fields that spread out before them — thinking noth- 
ing so permanent. But, by and by, other men come that 

b6 



58 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

way, and the green fields are all gone. The summer fruit 
has long since been gathered. Where the husbandman 
found his wealth, the fisher draws his support — where the 
sickles whispered to the bending corn, the ships of war go 
sheeting by — and the old mountain has become a grey and 
wave-beaten crag, a landmark to the distant mariner, and 
a turret where the sea-bird screams. 

But this was accomplished imperceptibly. One genera- 
tion may not have witnessed the advancement of the wa- 
ters — another may have passed away without noting it ; 
but slowly they kept advancing. And by and by, all men 
saw it — saw the grand result, though they did not mark 
each successive operation. So with human progress. 
One age may scarcely observe it, and another may die 
without faith in it; but we must take some distant period 
that is not too closely blended with our time, and compare 
that with the present, and in the grand result we shall dis- 
cover that there has been human progress. 

Still, some may say, " Yes, there has been progress, but 
not over the whole world — there have been salient points, 
but also retreating angles, and when you speak of human 
progress you must appeal to the world at large — say, has 
that advanced V I answer, that in the world, somewhere, 
there has been a constant tendency to advancement. Even 
the dark times have been seasons of fruition — the middle 
ages nourished and prepared glorious elements of human 
reformation. If one nation has lost the thread of human 
advancement, another has taken it up — and so the work 
has gone forward; if not in the race, as a whole, at any 
one time, yet in the race somewhere. 

But the race is fundamentally the same, and what may 
be predicated of a portion of mankind as belonging essen- 
tially to humanity, may be predicated of the whole, and so 
in the advancement of a portion of the race, the whole be- 
comes hopeful. The capacity of the race for progress has 
been demonstrated. Is that capacity never to be gratified % 
Though the period never has been that all the race were 
at the same time on the same level — who shall say that the 
time never will come % That it never can come 1 Who 
shall say, so long as the capacity exists, how quick the 
transfusion of what is excellent in one portion may be 
made through the whole ? 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 59 

A victory oyer the formal Asiatic, grim and bloody as it 
is, may be one agent of such transfusion. A triumph of 
machinery may help to accomplish it. The stearn-car may 
carry truth and light over drifted deserts and frozen moun- 
tains. The march of opinion, aided by circumstances, 
may penetrate to lands that never knew the commerce of 
Phoenicia, or the wisdom of Athens — where Alexander 
never ventured with his hosts, and where Caesar turned 
back his eagles. 

This is the main point — not universal progress, but hu- 
man progress — not progress everywhere, but progress some- 
where. Grant but that, and all humanity becomes hopeful 
— grant but the capacity, and the doctrine is practicable — 
let the law be in operation only at one point, still it is a 
laic, and as such is to be heeded and acted upon. Old no- 
tions may die, but new notions shall spring up. Let the 
principle be at work, and no one can limit the result. 

It may take a longer sweep of ages than have yet pass- 
ed over mankind, to bring all nations to the same point of 
advancement; some nations, now here and now there, 
may always be in advance of others, yet if the others ad- 
vance also, the great law will be in operation. And no 
people shall have lived or died in vain. Into the deepest 
sepulchres of the Old and the Past a new life shall be kin- 
dled, showing that they have not waited so long for noth- 
ing, Dim Meroe will shout freedom from beyond the 
fountains of the Nile, and the stony lips of the Sphynx 
shall preach the Gospel ! 



LESSON III. 

Damon and Pythias. — Brooke. 

When Damon was sentenced by Dionysius of Syracuse 
to die on a certain day, he begged permission, in the in- 
terim, to retire to his own country, to set the affairs of his 
disconsolate family in order. This the king intended ; per- 
emptorily to refuse, by granting it, as he conceived, on the 
impossible condition of his prootiring some one to remain 
as hostage for his return, under equal forfeiture of life. 



60 THE ELOCUTIONIST* 

Pythias heard the conditions, and did not Wait for an ap* 
plication upon the part of Damon. He instantly offered 
himself as security for his friend; which being accepted, 
Damon was immediately set at liberty. 

The king and all the courtiers were astonished at this 
action ; and, therefore, when the day of execution drew 
near, his majesty had the curiosity to visit Pythias in his 
confinement. After some conversation on the subject of 
friendship, in which the king delivered it as his opinion, 
that self-interest was the sole mover of human actions ; as 
for virtue, friendship, benevolence, love of one's country, 
and the like, he looked upon them as terms invented by 
the wise, to keep in awe and impose upon the weak— 
"My lord," said Pythias, with a firm voice and noble as- 
pect, "I would it were possible that I might suffer a thou* 
sand deaths, rather than my friend should fail in any arti- 
cle of his honour. He cannot fail therein, my lord. I am 
as confident of his virtue, as I am of my own existence.™ 
But I pray, I beseech the gods, to preserve the life and in* 
tegrity of my Damon together. Oppose him, ye winds ! 
prevent the eagerness and impatience of his honourable 
endeavours, and suffer him not to arrive, till, by my death, 
I shall have redeemed a life a thousand times of more con- 
sequence, of more value, than my own ; more estimable to 
his lovely wife, to his precious little innocents, to his 
friends, to his country. O leave me not to die the Worst of 
deaths in my Damon!" 

Dionysius Was awed and confounded by the dignity of 
these sentiments, and by the manner in which tl^ey were ut- 
tered: he felt his heart struck by a slight sense of invading 
truth ; but it served rather to perplex than undeceive him. 

The fatal day arrived. Pythias was brought forth, and 
walked amidst the guards with a serious, but satisfied air, 
to the place of execution. Dionysius was already there ; he ' 
was exalted on a moving throne, that was drawn by six 
white horses, and sat pensive, and attentive to the prison- 
er. Pythias came ; he vaulted lightly on the scaffold, and, 
beholding for some time the apparatus of death, he turned 
with a placid countenance, and addressed the spectators: 

"My prayers are heard," he cried: "the gods are propi- 

r ous ! You know, my friends, that the winds have been 

f rary till yesterday. Damon could not come ; he could 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 61 

not conquer impossibilities ; he will be here to-morrow, and 
the blood which* is shed to-day shall have ransomed the life 
of my friend. Oh, could I erase from your bosom every 
doubt, every mean suspicion, of the honour of the man for 
whom I am about to suffer, I should go to my death, even 
as I would to my bridal. Be it sufficient, in the mean time, 
that my friend will be found noble ; that his truth is unim- 
peachable ; that he will speedily prove it; that he is now on 
his way, hurrying on, accusing himself, the adverse ele- 
ments, and the gods: but I hasten to prevent his speed.— 
Executioner, do your office." 

As he pronounced the last words, a buzz began to rise 
among the remotest of the people — a distant voice was 
heard — the crowd caught the words, and, "stop, stop the 
execution, "was repeated by the whole assembly. A man 
came at full speed — the throng gave way to his approach: 
he was mounted on a steed of foam: in an instant, he was 
off his horse, on the scaffold, and held Pythias tightly em- 
braced. 

" You are safe, " he cried. " you are safe ! My friend, my 
beloved friend, the gods be praised, you are safe! I now 
have nothing but death to suffer, and am delivered from the 
anguish of those reproaches winch I gave myself, for having 
endangered a life so much dearer than my own." 

Pale, cold, and half-speechless, in the arms of his Damon, 
Pythias replied, in broken accents — "Fatal haste!— Cruel 
impatience !— What envious powers have wrought impos- 
sibilities in your favour ] — But I will not be wholly disap- 
pointed. — Since I cannot die to save, I will not survive 
you." Dionysius heard, beheld, and considered all with 
astonishment. His heart was touched-; he wept; and, 
leaving his throne, he ascended the scaffold. " Live, live, 
ye incompaiable pair !" he cried: M ye have borne unques- 
tionable testimony to the existence of virtue ! and that vir- 
lue equally evinces the existence of a G-od to reward it. 
Live happy, live renowned: and, oh! form me by your 
precepts, as ye have invited me by your example, to be 
worthy the participation of so sacred a friendship." 



62 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 



LESSON IV. 



On the Abuse of Genius, with reference to the Works 
of Lord Byron. — Knowles. 

I have endeavoured to show, that the intrinsic value of 
genius is a secondary consideration, compared to the use 
to which it is applied; that genius ought to he estimated 
chiefly by the character of the subject upon which it is em- 
ployed, or of the cause which it advocates — considering it, 
in fact, as a mere instrument, a weapon, a sword, which 
may be used in a good cause, or in a bad one ; may be 
wielded by a patriot, or a highwayman ; may give protec- 
tion to the dearest interests of society, or may threaten 
those interests with the irruption of pride, and profligacy, 
and folly — of all the vices which compose the curse and 
degradation of our species. 

I am the more disposed to dwell a little upon this sub- 
ject, because I am persuaded that it is not sufficiently at- 
tended to — nay, that in ninety-nine instances out of a hun- 
dred, it is not attended to at all : — that works of imagina- 
tion are perused, for the sake of the wit which they dis- 
play; which wit not only reconciles us to, but endears to 
us, opinions, and feelings, and habits, at war with wisdom 
and morality — to say nothing of religion : — in short, that 
we admire the polish, the temper, and shape of the sword, 
and the dexterity with which it is wielded, though it is 
the property of a lunatic, or of a bravo ; though it is bran- 
dished in the face of wisdom and virtue ; and, at every 
wheel, threatens to inflict a wound, that will disfigure s ome 
feature, or lop some member ; or, with masterly adroitness 
aims a death-thrust at the heart ! 

I would deprive genius of the worship that is paid to it, 
for its own sake. Instead of allowing if to dictate to the 
world, I would have the world dictate to it — dictate to it, 
so far as the vital interests of society are affected. I know 
it is the opinion of many, that the moral of mere poetry is 
of little avail ; that we are charmed by its melody and wit, 
and uninjured by its levity and profaneness ; and hence, 
many a thing has been allowed in poetry, which would 



TIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 63 

have been scouted, deprecated, reviled, had it appeared in- 
prose : as if vice and folly were less pernicious, for being 
introduced to us with an elegant and insinuating address ; 
or, as if the graceful folds and polished scales of a serpent, 
were an antidote against the venom of its sting. 

There is not a more prolific source of human error, than 
that railing at the world, which obtrudes itself so frequently 
upon our attention, in the perusing of Lord Byron's poems 
— that sickness of disgust, which begins its indecent heav- 
ings, whensoever the idea of the species forces itself upon 
him. The species is not perfect ; but it retains too much 
of the image of its Maker, preserves too many evidences of 
the modelling of the hand that fashioned it, is too near to 
the hovering providence of its disregarded, but still cherish- 
ing Author, to excuse, far less to call for, or justify, deser- 
tion, or disclaiming, or revilings, upon the part of any one of 
its members. 

I know not a more pitiable object, than the man, who, 
standing upon the pigmy eminence of his own self-impor- 
tance, looks around upon the species, with an eye that never 
throws a beam of satisfaction on the prospect, but visits with 
a scowl whatsoever it lights upon. The world is not that 
reprobate world, that it should be cut off from the visitation 
of charity ; that it should be represented, as having no alter- 
native, but to inflict or bear. Life is not one continued 
scene of wrestling with our fellows. Mankind are not for 
ever grappling one another by the throat. There is such a 
thing as the grasp of friendship, as the outstretched hand of 
benevolence, as an interchange of good offices, as a ming- 
ling, a crowding, a straining together, for the relief, or the 
benefit of our species. 

The moral he thus inculcates, is one of the most baneful 
tendency. The principle of self-love — implanted in us for 
the best, but capable of being perverted to the worst of pur- 
poses — by a fatal abuse, too often disposes to indulge in this 
sweeping depreciation of the species, founded upon some 
fallacious idea of superior value in ourselves ; with which 
imaginary excellence we conceive the world to be at war. 
A greater source of error cannot exist. 



64 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

LESSON V. 
To The Rainbow. — Campbell. 

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky 
When storms prepare to part, 

I ask not proud philosophy 
To teach me what thou art. 

Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, 

A midway station given 
For happy spirits to alight 

Betwixt the earth and heaven. 

Can all that optics teach, unfold 
Thy form to please me so, 

As when I dreamt of gems and gold 
Hid in thy radiant bow ] 

When Science from Creation's face 
Enchantment's veil withdraws, 

What lovely visions yield their place 
To cold material laws. 

And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, 
But words of the Most High, 

Have told, why first thy robe of beams 
Was woven in the sky. 

When o'er the green undeluged earth 
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, 

How came the world's gray fathers forth 
To watch thy sacred sign ! 

And when its yellow lustre smiled 
O'er mountains yet untrod, 

Each mother held aloft her child 
To bless the bow of God. 

Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, 
The first-made anthem rang, 

On earth delivered from the deep, 
And the first poet sang. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 65 

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye 

Unraptured greet thy beam : 
Theme of primeval prophecy, 

Be still the poet's theme. 

The earth to thee its incense yields, 

The lark thy welcome sings, 
When glittering in the freshened fields 

The snowy mushroom springs. 

How glorious is thy girdle cast 

O'er mountain, tower, and town ! 
Or mirrored in the ocean vast, 

A thousand fathoms down ! 

As fresh in yon horizon dark, 

As young thy beauties seem, 
As when the eagle from the ark 

First sported in thy beam. 

For, faithful to its sacred page, 

Heaven still rebuilds thy span, 
Nor lets the type grow pale with age 

That first spoke peace to man. 



LESSON VI. 
The Battle-Field.— ~W . C. Bryant, 

Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, 

And fiery hearts and armed hands 
Encountered in the battle-cloud. 

Ah, never shall the land forget 

How gushed the life-blood of her brave- 
Gushed, warm with hope and valour yet, 

Upon the soil they fought to save. 

Now all is calm and fresh and still; 

Alone the chirp of flitting bird, 
And talk of children on the hill, 

And bell of wandering kine, are heard. 



66 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

No solemn host goes trailing by 

The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain ; 
Men start not at the battle-cry — 

Oh, be it never heard again ! 

Soon rested those who fought — but thou, 
Who minglest in the harder strife 

For truths which men receive not now— 
Thy warfare only ends with life. 

A friendless warfare ! lingering long 
Though weary day and weary year; 

A wild and many-weaponed throng 
Hang on thy front and flank and rear. 

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, 
And* blench not at thy chosen lot ! 

The timid good may stand aloof, 

The sage may frown — yet faint thou not ! 

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, 
The hissing, stinging bolt of scorn ; 

For with thy side shall dwell, at last, 
The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again ; 

Th' eternal years of God are hers ; 
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, 

And dies among his worshippers. 

Yea, though thou die upon the dust, 

When those who helped thee flee in fear, 

Die full of hope and manly trust, 
Like those who fell in battle here; 

Another hand thy sword shall wield, 
Another hand the standard wave, 

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 67 

LESSON VII. 
The Virgin Mary's Bank*— J. C. Callahan. 

The evening star rose beauteous above the fading day, 

As to the lone and solemn beach the Virgin came to pray; 

And hill and wave shone brightly in the moonlight's mel- 
low fall, 

But the bank of green where Mary knelt was brightest of 
them all. 

Slow moving o'er the waters a gallant bark appeared, 
And her joyous crew looked from the deck as to the land 

she near'd ; 
To the calm and sheltered haven she floated like a swan, 
And her wings of snow o'er the waves below in pride and 

beauty shone. 

The master saw "Our Lady," as he stood upon the prow, 
And mark'd the whiteness of her robe and the radiance of 

her brow ; 
Her arms were folded gracefully upon her stainless breast, 
And her eyes look'd up among the stars to the home her 

soul loved best. 

He show'd her to his sailors, and he hailed her with a cheer, 
And on the kneeling Virgin then they gazed with laugh 

and jeer, 
And madly swore a form so fair they never saw before, 
And they cursed the faint and lagging breeze that kept 

them from the shore. 

The ocean from its bosom shook off the moonlight sheen, 
And up the wrathful billows rose to vindicate their Queen; 
And a cloud came o'er the heavens, and a darkness o'er 

the land, 
And the scoffing crew beheld no more the lady on the 

strand. 



" * These very beautiful verses are founded on an easting popular tradi- 
tion in the county of Cork. 



68 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Out burst the growling thunder, and the lightning leap'd 

about, 
And rushing with its watery war the tempest gave a shout, 
And the vessel from a mountain wave came down with 

rending shock, 
And her timbers flew like scattered spray on Inchidony's 

rock. 

Then -loud from all the guilty crew one shriek rose wild 
and high, 

But the angry surge swept over them and hush'd their 
gurgling cry ; 

And with a hoarse exulting tone the tempest pass'd away, 

And down, still chafing from their strife, th' indignant wa- 
ters lay. 

When the calm and purple morning shone out on high 

Dunmore, 
Full many a mangled corpse was seen on Inchidony's shore; 
And to this day the fisherman shows where the scoffers sank, 
And still he calls that hillock green the Virgin Mary's Bank. 



LESSON VIII. 

Against the American War. — Lord Chatham, 

I cannot, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation on 
misfortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous and 
tremendous moment. It is not a time for adulation : the 
smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and aw- 
ful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the 
language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delu- 
sion and darkness which envelope it, and display, in its full 
danger and genuine colours, the ruin which is brought to 
our doors. Can ministers still presume to expect support 
in their infatuation 1 Can parliament be so dead to its dig- 
nity and duty, as to give their support to measures thus ob- 
truded and forced upon them % Measures, my lords, which 
have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and con- 
tempt ! " But yesterday, and Britain might have stood 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 69 

against the world; now, none so poor as to do her reve- 
rence!" 

The people, whom we at first despised as rebels, but 
whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against 
us, supplied with every military store, have their interest 
consulted, and their ambassadors entertained, by our invet- 
erate enemy — and ministers do not, and dare not, interpose 
with dignity or effect. The desperate state of our army 
abroad is in part known. No man more highly esteems 
and honours the British troops than I do ; I know their vir- 
tues and their valour ; I know they can achieve any thing 
but impossibilities ; and I know that the conquest of British 
America is an impossibility. You cannot, my lords, you 
cannot conquer America. What is your present situation 
there % We do not know the worst ; but we know that in 
three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. 
You may swell every expense, accumulate every assis- 
tance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every Ger- 
man despot ; your attempts will be for ever vain and impotent 
— doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which you 
rely ; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds 
of your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary 
sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their pos- 
sessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an 
American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop 
was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms 
— never, never, never ! 

But, my lords, who is the man that, in addition to the 
disgraces and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize 
and associate to our arms the tomahawk and scalping-knife 
of the savage ] — to call into civilized alliance, the wild and 
inhuman inhabitant of the woods 1 — to delegate to the mer- 
ciless Indian the defence of disputed rights, and to wage 
the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren ? My 
lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punish- 
ment. But, my lords, this barbarous measure has been de- 
fended, not only on the principles of policy and necessity, 
but also on those of morality ; " for it is perfectly allow- 
able," says Lord Suffolk, " to use all the means which God 
and nature have put into our hands." I am astonished, I 
am shocked, to hear such principles confessed; to hear 
them avowed in this house, or in this country. 



70 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

My lords, I did not intend to encroach so much on your 
attention, but I cannot repress my indignation — I feel my- 
self impelled to speak. My lords, we are called upon as 
members of this house, as men, as Christians, to protest 
against such horrible barbarity ! — ■" That God and nature 
have put into our hands !'' What ideas .of God and nature 
that noble lord may entertain, I know not ; but I know, that 
such detestable principles are equally abhorrent to religion 
and humanity. What ! to attribute the sacred sanction of 
God and nature to the massacres of the Indian scalping- 
knife ! to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, devour- 
ing, drinking the blood of his mangled victims ! Such no- 
tions shock every precept of morality, every feeling of hu- 
manity, every sentiment of honour. These abominable 
principles, and this more abominable avowal of them, de- 
mand the most decisive indignation. 

I call upon that right reverend, and this most learned 
bench, to vindicate the religion of their God, to support 
the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops to in- 
terpose the unsullied sanctity of their lawn ; upon the 
judges, to interpose the purity of their ermine, to save us 
from this pollution. I call upon the honour of your lord- 
ships, to reverence the dignity of your ancestors, and to 
maintain your own. I call upon the spirit and humanity of 
my country, to vindicate the national character. I invoke 
the genius of the constitution. From the tapestry that 
adorns these walls, the immortal ancestor of this noble lord 
frowns with indignation at the disgrace of his country. In 
vain did he defend the liberty, and establish the religion of 
Britain, against the tyranny of Rome, if these worse than 
popish cruelties, and inquisitorial practices, are endured 
among us. 

To send forth the merciless cannibal, thirsting for blood ! 
against whom 1 — your Protestant brethren ! — to lay waste 
their country, to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate 
their race and name, by the aid and instrumentality of these 
horrible hounds of war ! Spain can no longer boast pre- 
eminence in barbarity. She armed herself with blood- 
hounds, to extirpate the wretched natives of Mexico ; we, 
more ruthless, loose these dogs of war against our country- 
men in America, endeared to us by every tie that can sanc- 
tify humanity. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 71 

I solemnly call upon your lordships, and upon every or- 
der of men in the state, to stamp upon this infamous pro- 
cedure the indelible stigma of the public abhorrence. 
More particularly, I call upon the holy prelates of our reli- 
gion to do away this iniquity ; let them perform a lustration, 
to purify the country from this deep and deadly sin. My 
lords, I am old and weak, and at present unable to say more ; 
but my feelings and indignation were too strong to have 
said less. I could not have slept this night in my bed, nor 
even reposed my head upon my pillow, without giving vent 
to my eternal abhorrence of such enormous and preposter- 
ous principles. 



LESSON IX. 

Reply to the Duke of Grafton. — Lord Thurlow. 

[The duke had (in the House of Lords) reproached Lord Thurlow 
with his plebeian extraction, and his recent admission to the peerage. 
Lord Thurlow rose from the woolsack, and advanced slowly to the 
place from which the chancellor addresses the house ; then fixing his 
eye upon the duke, spoke as follows.] 

My lords, I am amazed, yes, my lords, I am amazed at 
his grace's speech. The noble duke cannot look before him, 
behind him, or on either side of him, without seeing some 
noble peer, who owes his seat in this house to his success- 
ful exertions in the profession to which I belong. Does he 
not feel that it is as honourable to owe it to these, as to being 
the accident of an accident % To all these noble lords, the 
language of the noble duke is as applicable and insulting as 
it is to myself. But I do not fear to meet it single and 
alone. No one venerates the peerage more than I do. 
But, my lords, I must say that the peerage solicited me, not 
I the peerage. 

Nay, more, I can and will say, that, as a peer of parlia- 
ment, as speaker of this right honourable house, as keeper 
of the great seal, as guardian of his majesty's conscience, as 
lord high chancellor of England, nay, even in that character 
alone, in which the noble duke would think it an affront to 
be considered, but which character none can deny me— as a 



72 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Man, I am at this moment as respectable, I beg leave to add, 
as much respected, as the proudest peer I now look down 
iroon. 



LESSON X 

Speech in favour of the War of the Revolution.— Patrick 
Henry. 

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illu- 
sions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a pain- 
ful truth, and listen to the song of that syren, till she trans- 
forms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engag- 
ed in a great and arduous struggle for liberty ] Are we 
disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see 
not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly 
concern our temporal salvation ? For my part, whatever 
anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole 
truth ; to know the worst, and to provide for it. 

I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided; and 
that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judg- 
ing of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, 
I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the 
British ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes 
with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace them- 
selves and the house 1 Is it that insidious smile with which 
our petition has been lately received 1 Trust it not, sir; it 
will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to 
be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious 
reception of our petition comports with those warlike prepa- 
rations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are 
fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconcilia- 
tion] Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be recon- 
ciled, that force must be called in to win back our love ? 

Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the imple- 
ments of war and subjugation ; the last arguments to which 
kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this mar- 
tial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission ? 
Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? 
Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, 
to call for aJJ t]ai§ acQumutoiw of navies aad armies % No, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 73 

sir, she has none. They are meant for us : they can be 
meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet 
upon us those chains, which the British ministry have been 
so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them 1 
Shall we try argument 1 Sir, we have been trying that for 
the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon 
the subject % Nothing. We have held the subject up in 
every light of which it is capable ; but it has been all in 
vain. 

Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication ? 
What terms shall we find which have not already been ex- 
hausted ? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves 
longer. Sir, we have done every thing that could be done, 
to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have 
petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated, we 
have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have im- 
plored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the 
ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been slight- 
ed ; our remonstrances have produced additional violence 
and insult ; our supplications have been disregarded ; and 
we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the 
throne. 

In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope 
of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room 
for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve 
inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have 
been so long contending, if we mean not basely to abandon 
the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, 
and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until 
the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we 
must fight ; I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An appeal to 
arms, and to the Grod of Hosts, is all that is left us ! 

They tell us, sir, that we are weak, unable to cope with 
so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be strong- 
er ] Will it be the next week, or the next year ? Will it 
be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British 
guard shall be stationed in every house ] Shall we gather 
strength by irresolution and inaction ] Shall we acquire 
the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our 
backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our 
enemies shall have bound us hand and foot 1 Sir, we are 
not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which 
cl 



74* THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three mil- 
lions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in 
such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by 
any force which our enemy can send against us. 

Besides, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a 
just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and 
who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The 
battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, 
the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. 
If we are base enough to desire it, it is now too late to re- 
tire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in submis- 
sion and slavery. Our chains are forged. Their clanking 
may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war is inevi- 
table, and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! 

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen 
may cry peace, peace ! but there is no peace ! The war 
is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the 
north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! 
Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here 
idle ] What is*it that gentlemen wish ? What would they 
have ] Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchas- 
ed at the price of chains and slavery. Forbid it, Almighty 
God ! I know not what course others may take ; but as 
for me, give me liberty, or give me death ! 



LESSON XL 

Supposed Speech of John Adams in favour of signing the De- 
claration of Independence. — D. Webster. 

Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my 
hand and my heart to this vote! It is true, indeed, that in 
the beginning, we aimed not at independence. But there 
is a Divinity which shapes our ends. The injustice of 
England has driven us to arms ; and, blinded to her own 
interest, for our good she has obstinately persisted, till in- 
dependence is now within our grasp. We have but to 
reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we 
defer the declaration] Is any man so weak as now to 
hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 75 

either safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to 
his own life, and his own honour ] Are not you, sir, who 
sit in that chair; is not he, our venerable colleague near 
you ; are not both already the proscribed and predestined 
objects of punishment and of vengeance? Cut off from 
all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, 
while the power of England remains, but outlaws] 

If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, 
or give up, the war ] Do we mean to submit to the mea- 
sures of Parliament, Boston port-bill, and all ] Do we mean 
to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground 
to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in 
the dust 1 I know we do not mean to submit. We never 
shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn 
obligation ever entered into by men — that plighting, before 
God, of our sacred honour to Washington, when, putting 
him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well as the poli- 
tical hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him, in 
every extremity, with our fortunes and our lives ? 

I know there is not a man here, who would not rather 
see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an 
earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that plighted 
faith fall to the ground. For myself, having twelve months 
ago, in this place, moved you, that George Washington be 
appointed commander of the forces, raised, or to be raised, 
for defence of American liberty, may my right hand forget 
its cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, 
if I hesitate or waver in the support I give him. The war, 
then, must go on. We must fight it through. 

And if the war must go on, why put off longer the dec- 
laration of independence ? That measure will strengthen 
us. It will give us character abroad. The nations will, 
then treat with us, which they never can do, while we ac- 
knowledge ourselves subjects in arms against our sove- 
reign. Nay, I maintain that England herself, will sooner 
treat for peace with us on the footing of independence, 
than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowledge that 
her whole conduct towards us has been a course of injus- 
tice and oppression. Her pride will be less wounded by 
submitting to that course of things which now predestines 
our independence, than by yielding the point in contro- 
versy to her rebellious subjects. The former she would re- 
c2 



76 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

gard as the result of fortune ; the latter she could feel as 
her own deep disgrace. Why then, why then, sir, do we 
not, as soon as possible, change this from a civil to a na- 
tional war ] And, since we must fight it through, why not 
put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, 
if we gain the victory ] 

If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not 
fail. The cause will raise up armies ; the cause will cre- 
ate navies. The people, the people, if we are true to 
them, will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously 
through this struggle. I care not how fickle other people 
have been found. I know the people of these colonies ; 
and I know that resistance to British aggression is deep 
and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. Ev- 
ery colony, indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, 
if we but take the lead. Sir, the declaration will inspire 
the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and 
bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of 
grievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British 
king, set before them the glorious object of entire indepen- 
dence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of 
life. 

Read this declaration at the head of the army ; every 
sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn 
vow uttered, to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of 
honour. Publish it from the pulpit ; religion will approve 
it, and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, re- 
solved to stand or fall with it. Send it to the public halls ; 
proclaim it there ; let them hear it, who heard the first 
roar of the enemy's cannon; let them see it, who saw 
their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker 
Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord — and the 
very walls will cry out in its support. 

Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but I see 
clearly through this day's business. You and I, indeed, 
may rue it. We may not live to see the time when this de- 
claration shall be made good. We may die ; die, colonists ; 
die, slaves ; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaf- 
fold. Be it so. Be it so. If it be the pleasure of Heaven 
that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, 
the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, 
come when that hour may. But, while I do live, let me 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 77 

have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and that a 
free country. 

But, whatever may be our fate, be assured that this dec- 
laration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost 
blood; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for 
both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the 
brightness of the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall 
make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in 
our graves, our children will honour it. They will cele- 
brate it, with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bon-fires, 
and illuminations. On its annual return they will shed 
tears, copious, gushing tears, not of. subjection and slavery, 
not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, 
and of joy. Sir, befo^ Grod, I believe the hour is come. 
My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart 
is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I 
hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it ; 
and I leave off as I began, that, live or die, survive or per- 
ish, I am for the declaration. It is my living sentiment, 
and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my dying senti- 
ment ; — independence now ; and independence forever! 



LESSON XII. 
Character of Napoleon Bonaparte. — Channing. 

To rule was not enough for Bonaparte. He wanted to 
amaze, to dazzle, to overpower men's souls, by striking, 
bold, magnificent, and unanticipated results. To govern 
ever so absolutely would not have satisfied him, if he must 
have governed silently. He wanted to reign through won- 
der and awe, by the grandeur and terror of his name, by 
displays of power which would rivet on him every eye, and 
make him the theme of every tongue. Power was his su- 
preme object ; but a power which should be gazed at as 
well as felt, which should strike men as a prodigy, which 
should shake old thrones as an earthquake, and, by the sud- 
denness of its new creations, should awaken something of 
the submissive wonder which miraculous agency inspires. 

Such seems to us to have been the distinction or charac- 

c3 



78 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

teristic modification of his love of fame. It was a diseased 
passion for a kind of admiration, which, from the principles 
of our nature, cannot be enduring, and which demands for 
its support perpetual and more stimulating novelty. Mere 
esteem he would have scorned. Calm admiration, though 
universal and enduring, would have been insipid. He 
wanted to electrify and overwhelm. He lived for effect. 
The world was his theatre ; and he cared little what part he 
played, if he might walk the sole hero on the stage, and 
call forth bursts of applause which would silence all other 
fame. 

In war, the triumphs which he coveted were those in 
which he seemed to sweep away his foes like a whirlwind ; 
and the immense and unparalleled fctcrifice of his own sol- 
diers, in the rapid marches and daring assaults to which he 
owed his victories, in no degree diminished their worth to 
the victor. In peace, he delighted to hurry through his do- 
minions ; to multiply himself by his rapid movements ; to 
gather at a glance the capacities of improvement which 
every important place possessed ; to suggest plans which 
would startle by their originality and vastness ; to project, 
in an instant, works which a life could not accomplish, and 
to leave behind the impression of a superhuman energy. 

He was characterized by nothing more strongly than by 
the spirit of self-exaggeration. The singular energy of his 
intellect and will, through which he had mastered so many 
rivals and foes, and overcome what seemed insuperable ob- 
stacles, inspired a consciousness of being something more 
than man. His strong original tendencies to pride and self- 
exaltation, fed and pampered by strange success and un- 
bounded applause, swelled into an almost insane conviction 
of superhuman greatness. In his own view, he stood apart 
from other men. He was not to be measured by the stan- 
dard of humanity. He was not to be retarded by difficul- 
ties, to which all others yielded. He was not to be sub- 
jected to laws and obligations, which all others were expect- 
ed to obey. Nature and the human will were to bend to 
his power. He was the child and favourite of fortune ; and, 
if not the lord, the chief object of destiny. 

His history shows a spirit of self-exaggeration, unrivalled 
in enlightened ages, and which reminds us of an Oriental 
king, to whom incense had been burnt from his birth as to 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 79 

a deity. This was the chief source of his crimes. He 
wanted the sentiment of a common nature with his fellow- 
beings. He h£d no sympathies with his race. That feel- 
ing of brotherhood, which is developed in truly great 
souls with peculiar energy, and through which they give 
up themselves willing victims, joyful sacrifices, to the in- 
terests of mankind, was wholly unknown to him. 

His heart, amidst all its wild beatings, never had one 
throb of disinterested love. The ties which bind man to 
man he broke asunder. The proper happiness of a man, 
which consists in the victory of moral energy and social 
affection over the selfish passions, he cast away for the 
lonely joy of a despot. With powers which might have 
made him a glorious representative and minister of the 
beneficent Divinity, and with natural sensibilities which 
might have been exalted into sublime virtues, he chose to 
separate himself from his kind, — to forego their love, 
esteem, and gratitude, — that he might become their gaze, 
their fear, their wonder; and for this selfish, solitary good, 
parted with peace and imperishable renown. 



LESSON XIII. 
Character of Washington. — Lord Brougham. 

How grateful the relief which the friend of mankind, 
the lover of virtue, experiences, when, turning from the 
contemplation of such a character as Napoleon, his eye 
rests upon the greatest man of our own or any age ; — the 
only one upon whom an epithet so thoughtlessly lavished 
by men, to foster the crimes of their worst enemies, may 
be innocently and justly bestowed ! In Washington we 
truly behold a marvellous contrast to almost every one of 
the endowments and the vices which we have been con- 
templating ; and which are so well fitted to excite a min- 
gled admiration, and sorrow, and abhorrence. 

With none of that brilliant genius which dazzles ordi- 
nary minds ; with not even any remarkable quickness of 
apprehension ; with knowledge less than almost all persons 
in the middle ranks, and many well educated of the hum- 
c4 



80 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

bier classes, possess ; this eminent person is presented to 
our observation clothed in attributes as modest, as unpre- 
tending, as little calculated to strike or to astonish, as if he 
had passed unknown through some secluded region of pri- 
vate life. But he had a judgment sure and sound ; a stea- 
diness of mind which never suffered any passion, or even 
any feeling to ruffle its calm ; a strength of understanding 
which worked rather than forced its way through all ob- 
stacles — removing or avoiding rather than overleaping 
i hem. 

If profound sagacity, unshaken steadiness of purpose, 
the entire subjugation of all the passions which carry 
havoc through ordinary minds, and oftentimes lay waste 
the fairest prospects of greatness — nay, the discipline of 
those feelings which are wont to lull or to seduce genius, 
and to mar and to cloud over the aspect of virtue herself — 
joined with, or rather leading to the most absolute self-de- 
nial, the most habitual and exclusive devotion to principle 
— if these things can constitute a great character, without 
either quickness of ^apprehension, or resources of infor- 
mation, or inventive powers, or any brilliant quality that 
might dazzle the vulgar — then surely Washington was the 
greatest man that ever lived in this world uninspired by 
Divine wisdom, and unsustained by supernatural virtue. 

His courage, whether in battle or in council, was as per- 
fect as might be expected from this pure and steady tem- 
per of soul. A perfect just man, with a thoroughly firm 
resolution never to be misled by others, any more than to 
be by others overawed ; never to be seduced or betrayed, 
or hurried away by his own weaknesses or self-delusions, 
any more than by other men's arts ; nor ever to be dis- 
heartened by the most complicated difficulties, any more 
than to be spoilt on the giddy heights of fortune — such was 
this great man — great, pre-eminently great, whether we 
regard him sustaining alone the whole weight of cam- 
paigns all but desperate, or gloriously terminating a just 
warfare by his resources and his courage — presiding over 
the jarring elements of his political council, alike deaf to 
the storms of all extremes — or directing the formation of 
a new government for a great people, the first time that so 
vast an experiment had ever been tried by man — or finally 
retiring from the supreme power to which his virtue had 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 81 

raised him over the nation he had created, and whose des- 
tinies he had guided as long as his aid was required — re- 
tiring with the veneration of all parties, of all nations, of 
all mankind, in order that the rights of men might be con- 
served, and that his example never might be appealed to 
by vulgar tyrants. 

This is the consummate glory of Washington ; a trium- 
phant warrior where the most sanguine had a right to des- 
pair ; a successful ruler in all the difficulties of a course 
wholly untried ; but a warrior, whose sword only left its 
sheath when the first law of our nature commanded it to be 
drawn ; and a ruler who, having tasted of supreme pow- 
er, gently and unostentatiously desired that the cup might 
pass from him, nor would suffer more to wet his lips than 
the most solemn and sacred duty to his country and his God 
required ! 

To his latest breath did this great patriot maintain the 
noble character of a captain the patron of peace, and a 
statesman the friend of justice. Dying, he bequeathed to 
his heirs the sword which he had worn in the war for lib- 
erty, and charged them " Never to take it from the scab- 
bard but in self-defence, or in defence of their country and 
her freedom ;" and commanded them, that " when it should 
thus be drawn, they should never sheath it nor ever give 
it up, but prefer falling with it in their hands to the relin- 
quishment thereof ' — words, the majesty and simple elo- 
quence of which are not surpassed in the oratory of Athens 
and Rome. % 

It will be the duty of the historian and the sage in all 
ages to let no occasion pass of commemorating this illus- 
trious man ; and, until time shall be no more, will a test of 
the progress which our race has made in wisdom and in 
virtue be derived from the veneration paid to the immor- 
tal name of Washington ! 



LESSON XIV. 
Washington's Mon?tment.*—ANONYMOvs . 

Few columns rose when Rome was free, 
To mark her patriots' last repose ; 
c5 



82 . THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

When she outlived her liberty, 

The Emp'rors' mausoleums rose; 
And Trajan's shaft was reared at last, 
When freedom from the Tiber pass'd. 

"Better than Trajan, " lowly lies, 
By broad Potomac's silent shore, 
Hallowing the green declivities 

With glory now and evermore. 
Art to his fame no aid hath lent — 
His country is his monument. 



LESSON XV. 

Corn Fields. — Mary Howitt. 

In the young merry time of spring, 
When clover 'gins to burst, 

When blue-bells nod within the wood, 
And sweet May whitens first ; 

When merle and mavis sing their fill, 

Green is the young corn on the hill. 

But when the merry spring is past, 
And summer groweth bold, 

And in the garden and the field 
A thousand flowers unfold, 

Before a green leaf yet is sere, 

The young corn shoots into the ear. 

But, then, as day and night succeed, 

And summer weareth on, 
And in the flowery garden beds 

The red rose groweth wan, 
And hollyhock and sunflower tall 
O'ertop the mossy garden-wall : — 

When on the breath of autumn breeze, 
From pastures dry and brown, 

G-oes floating, like an idle thought, 
The fair, white thistle-down : 

O, then, what joy to walk at will, 

Upon that golden harvest-hill ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 83 

What joy in dreamy ease to lie 

Amid a field new-shorn : 
And see all round, on sun-lit slopes, 

The piled-up shocks of corn, 
And send the fancy wandering o'er 
All pleasant harvest-fields of yore ! 

I feel the day ; I see the field ; 

The quivering of the leaves ; 
And good old Jacob and his house 

Binding the yellow sheaves ; 
And, at this very hour, I seem 
To be with Joseph in his dream. 

I see the fields of Bethlehem, 

And reapers many a one, 
Bending unto their sickles' stroke, 

And Boaz looking on ; 
And Ruth, the Moabitess fair, 
Among the gleaners, stooping there. 

Again I see a little child, 

His mother's sole delight; 
God's living gift of love unto 

The kind, good Shunamite; 
To mortal pangs I see him yield, 
And the lad bear him from the field. 

The sun-bathed quiet of the hills, 

The fields of Galilee, 
That, eighteen* hundred years ago, 

Were full of corn, I see ; 
And the dear Saviour take his way 
'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day. 

O golden fields of bending corn, 

How beautiful they seem ! 
The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, 

To me are like a dream : 
The sunshine and the very air 
Seem of old time, and take me there ! 



c6 



84 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

LESSON XVI. 
Abou Ben Adhem.-*- Leigh Hunt* 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) 

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 

And saw within the moonlight of his room, 

Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, 

An angel writing in a book of gold. 

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 

And, to the presence in the room, he said, 

"What writest thouf ' The vision raised its head, 

And, with a look, made of all sweet accord, 

Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord !" 

"And is mine one?" asked Abou- — "Nay, not so," 

Replied the angel. Abou spake more low, 

But cheerily still; and said — -"I pray thee, then, 

Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 

It came again, with a great wakening light, 

And showed the names whom love of God had blest; 

And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest! 



LESSON XVII. * 

Eloquenoe and Logic. From an Eulogy on H. S* Legare, 
of South CaroM?ia.—W. C. Preston. 

Our popular institutions demand a talent for speaking, 
and create a taste for it. Liberty and eloquence are united 
in all ages. Where the sovereign power is found in the 
public mind and the public heart, eloquence is the obvious 
approach to it. Power and honour, and all that can attract 
ardent and aspiring natures, attend it. The noblest instinct 
is to propagate the spirit, " to make our mind the n\ind of oth- 
er men," and wield the sceptre in the realms of passion. 
Smitten with the love, he devoted himself to the culture of 
eloquence, from his boyhood. He was by nature endowed 



PIECES FOR KEADINff AND DECLAMATION 85 

with an active imagination, warm sensibilities, a vigourous 
mind, and an easy flow of speech. To these he added, as 
we have seen, all that labour could achieve ; nor was he in- 
attentive to the minuter accomplishments of the voice and 
gesture, which contribute, in their degree, to successful 
speaking, and, by the authority of the most illustrious ex- 
amples, are shewn to be worthy of attention. 

In his gesture it was a great triumph of art and persever- 
ance to overcome defects, in which he eminently succeeded. 
To improve his voice, i f was his practice for many years to 
task it with long and varied declamation, trying it upon 
his ear with frequent repetition, to attain the exact intona- 
tion, for he properly conceived that there is " full many a 
tone" of thought and feeling beyond the reach of words or 
action, which are vibrated to the heart by the voice only. 
Besides these exercises, he subjected it to the more invigor- 
ating discipline of speaking in the open harbour, to a remote 
part of which he was occasionally rowed by his servant, 
where he declaimed upon the vacant air and sea, passages 
from the ancients or moderns, and sometimes whole speech- 
es from Cicero. The result was, that he brought his voice to- 
great perfection, especially in its loftier tones, to which, 
when it was tasked to the utmost, may be applied the words 
of Quintillian, quicquid immensum i?ifinitiimque. 

The general characteristics of his style of speaking were 
similar to those of his writing ; developed, of course, with 
greater elevation and intenseness, as speaking admits of a 
wider range and bolder contrast, from the highest ascent in- 
to the regions of passion, to the most familiar and colloquial 
narrative. His method of constructing a speech was sys- 
tematic and exact—the argument always forcibly conceived, 
and skilfully concatenated, the occasional remarks acute 
and pregnant— -and the learning and thought on the immedi- 
ate subject or collateral to it, most rich and abundant. The 
affluence of his knowledge and the quickness of his sensi- 
bility, gave him a tendency to amplitude and vehemence, 
which exposed his oratory to the charge of declamation, 
as his literary accomplishments had created a suspicion of 
his law knowledge — the same error arising from the same 
sources. 

In the art of speaking, as in all other arts, a just combina- 
tion of those qualities necessary to the end proposed, is the 



86 THE ELOCUTIONIST* 

true rule of taste. Excess is always wrong. Too much 
ornament is an evil — too little, also. The one may impede 
the progress of the argument, or divert attention from it, by 
the introduction of extraneous matter — the other may ex- 
haust attention or weary by monotony. Elegance is in a 
just medium. The safer side to err on, is that of abundance 
— as profusion is better than poverty; as it is better to be 
detained by the beauties of a landscape, than by the weari- 
ness of the desert. 

It is commonly, but mistakenly, supposed, that the enfor- 
cing of truth is most successfully effected by a cold and for- 
mal logic; but the subtleties of dialectics and the forms of lo- 
gic, may play as fantastic tricks with truth, as the most potent 
magic of Fancy. The attempt to apply mathematical pre- 
cision to moral truth, is always a failure, and generally a 
dangerous one. If man, and especially masses of men, were 
purely intellectual, then cold reason would alone be influen- 
tial to convince — but our nature is most complex, and many 
of the great truths which it most concerns us to know, are 
taught us by our instincts, our sentiments, our impulses and 
our passions. 

Even in regard to the highest and holiest of all truth, to 
know which concerns us here and hereafter, we are not per- 
mitted to approach its investigation in the confidence of 
proud and erring reason, but are taught to become as little 
children, before we are worthy to receive it. It is to this 
complex nature that the speaker addresses himself, and the 
degree of power with which all the elements are evoked, is 
the criterion of the orator. His business, to be sure, is to 
convince, but more to persuade ; and most of all, to inspire 
with noble and generous passions. 

It is the cant of criticism, in all ages, to make a distinction 
between logic and eloquence, and to stigmatize the latter as 
declamation. Logic ascertains the weight of an argument, 
Eloquence gives it momentum. The difference is that be- 
tween the vis inertia of a mass of metal, and the same ball 
hurled from the cannon's mouth. Eloquence is an argu- 
ment alive and in motion — the statue of Pygmalion, inspired 
with vitality. 

When in 1828, Mr. Legare depicted the possible conse- 
quences of a collision of the State with the Federal Govern- 
ment, in a few glowing sentences — brother struggling with 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. S7 

brother, parent with child, and the face of the land wrapped 
in conflagration and streaming with blood — while the slave, 
amidst the awful confusion, clanking his manacles, leaps up 
to join the dreadful revelry — was there less power in the ar- 
gument to arrest the power of Nullification, than if it had 
been presented with cold continuity and precision ] If Mr. 
Legare erred in his general manner of speaking, it was not 
accidental, but the result of a wrong judgment ; for his opi- 
nion was, that the elegant and vehement style of oratory 
was the best. 



LESSON XVIII. 

The Death of Leonidas. — Rev. George Croly. 

It was the wild midnight, — a storm was in the sky, 
The lightning gave its light, and the thunder echoed by ; 
The torrent swept the glen, the ocean lashed the shore, 
Then rose the Spartan men, to make their bed in gore ! 

Swift from the deluged ground, three hundred took the 

shield ; 
Then, silent, gather'd round the leader of the field. 
He spoke no warrior-word, he bade no trumpet blow ; 
But the signal thunder roar'd, and they rush'd upon the foe. 

The fiery element, show'd, with one mighty gleam, 
Rampart and flag, and tent, like the spectres of a dream. 
All up the mountain side, all down the woody vale, 
All by the rolling tide, waved the Persian banners pale. 

And king Leonidas, among the slumbering band, 

Sprang foremost from the pass, like the lightning's living 

* brand ; 
Then double darkness fell, and the forest ceased to moan, 
But there came a clash of steel, and a distant dying groan. 

Anon, a trumpet blew, and a fiery sheet burst high, 
That o'er the midnight threw, a blood-red canopy. 
A host glared on the hill ; a host glared by the bay ; 
But the Greeks rush'd onwards still, like leopards in their 
play. 



S8 THE ELOCTTTIONIST. 

The air was all a yell, and the earth was all a flame, 
Where the Spartan's bloody steel on the silken turbans 

came ; 
And still the Greek rushed on, beneath the fiery fold, 
Till, like a rising sun, shone Xerxes' tent of gold. 

They found a royal feast, his midnight banquet, there ! 
And the treasures of the East lay beneath the Dorie spear. 
Then sat to the repast, the bravest of the brave ! 
That feast must be their last, that spot must be their grave. 

They pledged old Sparta's name in cups of Syrian wine, 
And the warrior's deathless fame, was sung in strains divine. 
They took the rose-wreath'd lyres from eunuch and from 

slave, 
And taught the languid wires the sounds that freedom gave. 

But now the morning star crown'd (Eta's twilight brow, 
And the Persian horn of war from the hill began to blow ; 
Up rose the glorious rank, to Greece one cup pour'd high, 
Then, hand in hand, they drank — " To Immortality !" 

Pear on King Xerxes fell, when, like spirits from the 

tomb, 
With shout and trumpet-knell, he saw the warriors come ; 
But down swept all his power, with chariot and with 

charge ; 
Down pour'd the arrowy shower, till sank the Dorian's 

targe. 

They march'd within the tent, with all their strength un- 
strung ; 

To Greece one look they sent, then on high their torches 
flung ; 

To heaven the blaze uproll'd, like a mighty altar-fire ; * 

And the Persians' gems and gold were the Grecians' fune- 
ral pyre. * 

Their king sat on the throne, his captains by his side, 
While the flame rush'd roaring on, and their paean loud re- 
plied ! 
Thus fought the Greek of old ! Thus will he fight again ! 
Shall not the self-same mould bring forth the self-same men ? 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 89 

LESSON XIX. 

Death for Our Country. — J. Gr. Percival. 

Ok ! it is^greatfor our country to die, when ranks are con- 
tending : 
Bright is the wreath of our fame ; glory awaits us for aye — . 
Glory, that never is dini, shining on with a light never 
ending — 
Glory that never shall fade, never, Oh! never away. 

Oh ! it is sweet for our country to die : how softly reposes 
Warrior youth on his bier, wet by the tears of his love, 
Wet by a mother's warm tears ; they crown him with gar- 
lands of f oses, 
Weep, and then joyously turn, bright where he tri- 
umphs above. 

Not to the shades shall the youth descend, who for coun- 
try hath perished : 
Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him there with 
her smile; 
There at the banquet divine, the patriot spirit is cherished; 
Gods love the young, who ascend pure from the funeral 
pile. 

Not to Elysian fields, by the still, oblivious river; 

Not to the isles of the blest, over the blue rolling sea; 
But on Olympian heights, shall dwell the devoted forever; 

There shall assemble the good, there the wise, valiant 
and free. 

Oh ! then, how great for our country to die, in the front 
rank to perish, 
Firm with our breast to the foe, Victory's shout in our 
ear: 
Long they our statues shall crown, in songs our memory 
cherish ; 
We shall look forth from our heaven, pleased the sweet 
music to hear. 



90 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

LESSON XX. 

To One Departed. — T. K. Hervey. 

I know thou art gone to the home of thy rest, 
* Then why should my soul be so sad ! 
I know thou art gone where the weary are blest, 

And the mourner looks up and is glad ; 
Where love has put off', in the land of its birth, 

The stains it had gathered in this, 
And Hope, the sweet singer that gladden'd the earth, 

Lies asleep on the bosom of Bliss. 

I know thou art gone where thy forehead is starr'd 

With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul — 
Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marr'd, 

Nor thy heart be. flung back from its goal ; 
I know thou hast sipp'd of the Lethe that flows 

Through a land where they do not forget — 
That sheds over memory only repose, 

And takes from it only regret. 

This eye must be dark that so long has been dirnm'd 

Ere again it may gaze upon thine; 
But my heart has revealings of thee and thy home, 

In many a token and sign : 
I never look up with a wish to the sky, 

But a light like thy beauty is there : 
And I hear a low murmur, like thine in reply, 

When I pour out my spirit in prayer. 

In thy far away dwelling, wherever it be, 

I believe thou hast visions of mine ; 
And thy love that made all things as music to me, 

I have not yet learned to resign : 
In the hush of the night, on the waste of the sea, 

Or alone with the breeze on the hill, 
I have ever a presence that whispers of thee, 

And my spirit lies down and is still. 

And though, like a mourner that sits by a tomb, 
I am wrapp'd in a mantle of care, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 91 

Yet the grief of my spirit — O, call it not gloom f — 

Is not the black grief of despair : 
By sorrow reveal' d, as the stars are by night, 

Far off, a bright vision appears ; 
And Hope, like the rainbow, a creature of light, 

Is born, like the rainbow, in tears. 



LESSON XXL 
A Christian viewing: Death. — Dewey. 



'"O 



I have seen one die : she was beautiful ; and beautiful 
were the ministries of life that were given her to fulfil. 
Angelic loveliness enrobed her ; and a grace as if it were 
caught from heaven; breathed in every tone, hallowed ev- 
ery affection, shone in every action — invested as a halo her 
whole existence, and made it a light and blessing, a charm 
and a vision of gladness, to all around her : but she died ! 
Friendship, and love, and parental fondness, and infant 
weakness, stretched out their hand to save her ; but they 
could not save her : and she died ! What ! did all that 
loveliness die ! Is there no land of the blessed and the 
lovely ones, for such tolive in ! Forbid it reason, religion ! 
bereaved affection, and undying love ! forbid the thought ! 
I have seen one die — in the maturity of every power, in' 
the earthly perfection of every faculty ; when many temp- 
tations had been overcome, and many hard lessons had been 
learned ; when many experiments had made virtue easy, 
and had given a facility to action, and a success to endea- 
vour ; when wisdom had been learnt from many mistakes, 
and a skill had been laboriously acquired in the use of ma- 
ny powers ; and the being I looked upon had just compass- 
ed that most useful, most practical of all knowledge, how to 
live, and to act well and wisely ; yet I have seen such an 
one die ! 

Was all this treasure gained only to be lost ] Were all 
these faculties trained, only to be thrown into utter disuse ] 
Was this instrument — the intelligent soul, the noblest in 
the universe — was it so laboriously fashioned, and by the 



92 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

most varied and expensive "apparatus, that, on the very mo- 
ment of being finished, it should be cast away forever ] No, 
the dead, as we call them, do not so die. They carry their 
thoughts to another and a nobler existence. They teach us, 
and especially by all the strange and seemingly untoward 
circumstances of their departure from this life, that they, 
and we, shall live forever. They open the future world, 
then, to our faith. 

Oh ! death ! — dark hour to hopeless unbelief ! hour to 
which, in that creed of despair, no hour shall succeed ! be- 
ing's last hour ! to whose appalling darkness, even the sha- 
dows of an avenging retribution, were brightness and re- 
lief — death I what art thou to the Christian's assurance % 
Great hour ! answer to life's prayer — great hour that shall 
break asunder the bond of life's mystery : hour of release 
from life's burden — hour of reunion with the loved and 
lost — what mighty hopes hasten to their fulfilment in thee ! 
What longings,, what aspirations — breathed in the still 
night, beneath the silent stars — ■ what dread emotions of cu- 
riosity — what deep meditations of joy — what hallowed im- 
possibilities shadowing forth realities to the soul, all verge to 
their consummation in thee ! Oh ! death ! the Christian's 
death ! What art thou, but a gate of life, a portal of heaven, 
the threshold of eternity ! 



LESSON XXII. 

In favour of acknowledging the Independence of G-reece. — 
Henry Clay. 

The resolution proposes a provision of the means to de- 
fray the expense of deputing a commissioner or agent to 
Greece, whenever the President, who knows, or ought to 
know, the disposition of all the European powers, Turkish 
or Christian, shall deem it proper. The amendment goes 
to withhold any appropriation to that object, but to make a 
public declaration of our sympathy with the Greeks, and of 
our good wishes for the success of their cause. And how 



PISCES 'for reading and declamation, 93 

has this simple, unpretending, unambitious — this harmless 
proposition — been treated in debate 1 

It has been argued, as if it offered aid to the Greeks ; as 
if it proposed the recognition of the independence of their 
government ; as a measure of unjustifiable interference in 
the internal affairs of a foreign state, and, finally, as war. 
And those, who thus argue the question, whilst they abso- 
lutely surrender themselves to the illusions of their own fer- 
vid imaginations, and depict, in glowing terms, the mon- 
strous and alarming consequences, which are to spring out 
of a proposition so simple, impute to us, who are its humble 
advocates, Quixotism — Quixotism ! 

Whilst they are taking the most extravagant and bound- 
less range, and arguing anything and everything but the 
question before the Committee, they accuse us of enthusi- 
asm, of giving the reins to excited feeling, of being trans- 
ported by our imaginations. No, sir ; the resolution is no 
proposition for aid — nor for recognition, nor for interfer- 
ence, nor for war. 

Sir, it is not for Greece alone, that I desire to see this 
measure adopted. It will give to her but little support, 
and that purely of a moral kind. It is principally for Amer- 
ica, for the credit and character of our common country, for 
our own unsullied name, that I hope to see it pass. What 
appearance, Mr. Chairman, on the page of history, would 
a record like this exhibit : — 

" In the month of January, in the year of our Lord and 
Saviour, 1824, while all European Christendom beheld, 
with cold and unfeeling indifference, the unexampled 
wrongs and inexpressible misery of Christian Greece, a 
proposition was made in the Congress of the United States, 
almost the sole, the last, the greatest, depository of hu- 
'man hope and human freedom — the representatives of a 
gallant nation, containing a million of freemen ready to fly 
to arms — while the people of that nation were spontane- 
ously expressing its deep-toned feeling, and the whole 
continent, by one simultaneous emotion, was rising, and 
solemnly and anxiously supplicating and invoking 
high Heaven to succour Greece and to invigorate her 
arms, in her glorious cause ; while temples and senate 
houses were alike resounding with one burst of generous 
and holy sympathy ; — in that year of our Lord and Sa- 



94 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

viour — the Saviour of Greece and of us — a proposition 
was offered in the American Congress to send a messen- 
ger to Greece, to inquire into her state and condition, 
with a kind expression of our good wishes and our sympa- 
thies : — and it was rejected /" 

Go home, if you can — go home, if you dare — to your 
constituents, and tell them that you voted it down ; meet, 
if you can, the appalling countenances of those who sent 
you here, and tell them that you shrank from the declara- 
tion of your own sentiments ; — that you cannot tell how, 
but that some unknown dread, some indescribable appre- 
hension, some indefinable danger, drove you from your 
purpose ; — that the spectres of scimetars, and crowns, and 
crescents, gleamed before you, and alarmed you ; — and, 
that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by re- 
ligion, by liberty, by national independence, and by hu- 
manity. 

I cannot bring myself to believe, that such will be the 
feeling of a majority of the Committee. But, for myself, 
though every friend of the cause should desert it, and I be 
left to stand alone with the mover of this resolution, I 
would give to it the sanction of my unqualified approba- 
tion. 



LESSON XXIII. 

The Statue of the Bclvidere Apollo. — Rev. H. H. Milman. 

Heard ye the arrow hurtle in the sky ] 

Heard ye the dragon monster's deathful cry i 

In settled majesty of calm disdain, 

Proud of his might, yet scornful of the slain, 

The heav'nly Archer stands* — no human birth, 

No perishable denizen of earth ; 

Youth blooms immortal in his beardless face, 

A god in strength, with more than godlike grace ; 

All, all divine — no struggling muscle glows, — 

Through heaving vein no mantling life-blood flows, 

But, animate with deity alone, 

In deathless glory lives the breathing stone. 



* The Apollo is in the act of watching the arrow, with which he 
slew the serpent Python. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 95 

Bright kindling with a conqueror's stem delight, 
His keen eye tracks the arrow's fateful flight ; 
Burns hisundignant cheek with vengeful fire, 
And his up quivers with insulting ire : 
Firm fix 'cl his tread, yet light, as when on high 
He walks th' impalpable and pathless sky : 
The rich luxuriance of his hair, confined 
In graceful ringlets, wantons on the wind, 
That lifts in sport his mantle's drooping fold, 
Proud to display that form of faultless mould. 

Mignty Ephesian ! # with an eagle's flight 
Thy proud soul mounted through the fields of light, 
View'd the bright conclave of Heaven's blest abode, 
And the cold marble leapt to life a god : 
Contagious awe through breathless myriads ran, 
And nations bow'd before the work of man. 
For mild he seem'd, as in Elysian bowers, 
Wasting in careless ease the joyous hours; 
Haughty, as bards have sung, with princely sway 
Curbing the fierce, flame-breathing steeds of day; 
Beauteous as vision seen in dreamy sleep 
By holy maid on Delphi's haunted steep, 
'Mid the dim twilight of the laurel grove, 
Too fair to worship, too divine to love. 

Yet, on that form, in wild, delirious trance, 
With more than rev'rence gazed the Maid of France ; 
Day after day the love-sick dreamer stood 
With him alone, nor thought it solitude ! 
To cherish grief, her last, her dearest care, 
Her one fond hope — -to perish of despair! 
Oft as the shifting light her sight beguiled, 
Blushing she shrank, and thought the marble smiled : 
Oft breathless list'ning heard, or seem'd to hear, 
A voice of music melt upon her ear. 
Slowly she waned, and cold and senseless grown, 
Closed her dim eyes, herself benumb'd to stone. 
Yet love in death a sickly strength supplied : 
Once more she gazed, then feebly smiled, and died.f 



* Agasias of Ephesus. 

f The foregoing fact is related in the work of M. Pinel on Insanity. 



86 tHE ELOCUTIONIST* 

LESSON XXIV. 
In Favour of the American Revolution* — Jotsiah Quincy. 

Be not deceived, my countrymen. Believe not these 
venal hirelings, when they would cajole you by their sub- 
tleties into submission, or frighten you by their vapourings 
into compliance.' When they strive to flatter you by the 
terms " moderation and prudence,'' tell them that calm- 
ness and deliberation are to guide the judgment ; courage 
and intrepidity command the action. When they endeav- 
our to make us " perceive our inability to oppose our 
mother country," let us boldly answer :— In defence of 
our civil and religous rights, we dare oppose the world : 
w r ith the God of armies on our side ! even the God who 
fought our fathers' battles ! we fear not the hour of trial, 
though the hosts of our enemies should cover the field like 
locusts. If this be enthusiasm, we will live and die en- 
thusiasts. 

Blandishments will not fascinate us, nor w|}l threats of 
a " halter" intimidate. For, under God, we are determin- 
ed, that wheresoever, whensoever, or howsoever we shall 
be called to make our exit, we will die freemen. Well 
do we know that all the regalia of this world cannot dig- 
nify the death of a villain, nor diminish the ignominy with 
which a slave shall quit existence. Neither can it taint 
the unblemished honour of a son of freedom, though he 
should make his departure on the already prepared gibbet, 
or be dragged to the newly-erected scaffold for execution. 
With the plaudits of his country, and what is more, the 
plaudits of his conscience, he will go off the stage. The 
history of his life his children shall venerate. The virtues 
of their sire shall excite their emulation. 

Who has the front to ask, Wherefore do you complain '? 
Who dares assert, that every thing worth living for is not 
lost, when a nation is enslaved ? Are not pensioners, sti- 
pendiaries, and salary-men, unknown before, hourly mul- 
tiplying upon us, to riot in the spoils of miserable Amer- 
ica % Does not every eastern gale waft us some new in- 
sect, even of that devouring kind, which eat up every 
green thing ? Is not the bread taken out of the children's 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 97 

mouths and given unto the dogs ] Are not our estates giv- 
en to corrupt sycophants, without a design, or even a pre- 
tence, of soliciting our assent ; and our lives put into the 
hands of those whose tender mercies are cruelties % Has 
not an authority in a distant land, in the most public man- 
ner, proclaimed the right of disposing of the ail of Amer- 
icans? 

In short, what have we to lose ] What have we to fear % 
Are not our distresses more than we can bear ] And to 
finish all, are not our cities, in a time of profound peace, 
filled with standing armies, to preclude from us that last 
solace of the wretched — to open their mouths in com- i 
plaint, and send forth their cries in bitterness of heart 1 

But is there no ray of hope ] Is not Great Britain in- 
habited by the children of those renowned barons, who 
waded through seas of crimson gore to establish their lib- 
erty ] and will they not allow us, their fellow men, to en- 
ioy that freedom which we claim from nature, which is 
confirmed by our constitution, and which they pretend so 
highly to value ] Were a tyrant to conquer us, the chains 
of slavery, when opposition should become useless, might 
be supportable ; but to be shackled by Englishmen, — by 
our equals, — is not to be borne. 

By the sweat of our brow we earn the little we possess ; 
from nature we derive the common rights of man; and by 
charter we claim the liberties of Britons. Shall we, dare 
we, pusillanimously surrender our birthright 1 Is the ob- 
ligation to our fathers discharged 1 Is the debt we owe 
posterity paid] Answer me, thou coward, who hidest 
thyself in the hour of trial ! If there is no reward in this 
life, no prize of glory in the next, capable of animating 
thy dastard soul, think and tremble, thou miscreant! at 
the whips and stripes thy master shall lash thee with on 
earth, — and the flames and scorpions thy second master 
shall torment thee with hereafter ! 

Oh, my countrymen ! what will our children say, when 
they read the history of these times, should they find that 
we tamely gave away, without one noble struggle, the 
most invaluable of earthly blessings ! As they drag the 
galling chain, will they not execrate us 1 If we have any 
respect for things sacred, any regard to the dearest trea- 
sure on earth ; if we have one tender sentiment for posteri- 



98 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

ty ; if we would not be despised by the whole world; — 
let us, in the most open, solemn manner, and with deter- 
mined fortitude, swear — We will die, if we cannot live 
freemen. 

While we have equity, justice, and God on our side, 
tyranny, spiritual or temporal, shall never ride triumph- 
ant in a land inhabited by Englishmen. 



LESSON XXV. 
Dignity of Human Nature, — Dewey. 

Your neighbour is above you in the world's esteem, per- 
haps — above you, it may be, in fact : but what are you ? 
You are a man ; you are a rational and religious being ; 
you are an immortal creature. Yes, a glad and glorious 
existence is yours ; your eye is opened to the lovely and 
majestic vision of nature ; the paths of knowledge are 
around you, and they stretch onward to eternity : and most 
of all, the glory of the infinite God, the all-perfect, all- 
wise, and all-beautiful, is unfolded to you. What now, 
compared with this, is a little worldly renown 1 The trea- 
sures of infinity and of eternity are heaped upon thy labour- 
ing thought ; can that thought be deeply occupied with 
questions of mortal prudence ] It is as if a man were en- 
riched by some generous benefactor, almost beyond mea- 
sure, and should find nothing else to do, but vex himself 
and complain, because another man was made a few thou- 
sands richer. 

Where, unreasonable complainer ! dost thou stand, and 
what is around thee 1 The world spreads before thee its 
sublime mysteries, where the thoughts of sages lose them- 
selves in wonder ; the ocean lifts up its eternal anthems to 
thine ear ; the golden sun lights thy path ; the wide hea- 
vens stretch themselves above thee, and worlds rise upon 
worlds, and systems beyond systems, to infinity ; and dost 
thou stand in the centre of all this, to complain of thy lot 
and place ? Pupil of that infinite teaching ! minister at 
Nature's great altar! child of heaven's favour! ennobled 
being ! redeemed creature ! must thou pine in sullen and 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 99 

envious melancholy, amidst the plenitude of the whole 
creation ] 

"But thy neighbor is above thee," thou sayest. What 
then i What is that to thee ? What, though the shout of 
millions rose around him ] What is that, to the million- 
voiced nature that Grod has given thee ? That shout dies 
away into the vacant air ; it is not his : but thy nature — 
thy favoured, sacred and glorious nature— is thine. It is 
the reality— to which praise is but a fleeting breath. Thou 
canst meditate the things, which applause but celebrates. 

In that thou art a man, thou art infinitely exalted above 
what any man can be, in that he is praised. I w r ould rath- 
er he the humblest man in the world, than barely he thought 
greater than the greatest. The beggar is greater, as a 
man, than is the man, merely as a king. Not one of the 
crowds that listened to the eloquence of Demosthenes and 
Cicero — not one who has bent with admiration over the 
pages of Homer and Shakspeare— not one who followed 
in the train of Caesar or of Napoleon, would part with the 
humblest power of thought, for all the fame that is echoing 
over the world and through the ages. 



LESSON XXVI. 

An Exhortation to the Study of Eloquence. — Cicero. 

I cannot conceive any thing more excellent, than to be 
able, by language, to captivate the affections, to charm the 
understanding, and to impel or restrain the will of whole 
assemblies, at pleasure. Among every free people, espe- 
cially in peaceful, settled governments, this single art has 
always eminently flourished, and always exercised the 
greatest sway. For what can be more surprising, than 
that, amidst an infinite multitude, one man should appear, 
who shall be the only, or almost the only man capable of 
doing what Nature has put in every man's power ! Or, 
can any thing impart such exquisite pleasure to the ear, 
and to the intellect, as a speech, in which the wisdom and 
dignity of the sentiments, are heightened by the utmost 
force and beauty of expression ! 



100 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Is there any thing so commanding, so grand, as that 
the eloquence of one man should direct the inclinations of 
the people, the consciences of judges, and the majesty of 
senates % Nay, farther, can aught be esteemed so great, 
so generous, so public-spirited, as to assist the suppliant, 
to rear the prostrate, to communicate happiness, to avert 
danger, and to save a fellow-citizen from exile ] Can any 
thing be so necessary, as to keep those arms always in 
readiness, with which you may defend yourself, attack the 
profligate, and redress your own, or your country's 
wrongs ] 

But, let us consider this accomplishment as detached 
from public business, and from its wonderful efficacy in 
popular assemblies, at the bar, and in the senate ; can any 
thing be more agreeable, or more endearing in private life, 
than elegant language ] For the great characteristic of 
our nature, and what eminently distinguishes us from 
brutes, is the faculty of social conversation, the power of 
expressing our thoughts and sentiments by words. To 
excel mankind, therefore, in the exercise of that very tal- 
ent, which gives them the preference to the brute creation, 
is what every body must not only admire, but look upon as 
the just object of the most indefatigable pursuit. 

And now, to mention the chief point of all, what other 
power could have been of sufficient efficacy to bring to- 
gether the vagrant individuals of the human race ; to tame 
their savage manners ; to reconcile them to social life ; 
and, after cities were founded, to mark out laws, forms, 
and constitutions, for their government ] — Let me, in a few 
words, sum up this almost boundless subject. I lay it 
down as a maxim, that upon the wisdom and abilities of 
an accomplished orator, not only his own dignity, but the 
welfare of vast numbers of individuals, and even of the 
whole state, must greatly depend. Therefore, young gen- 
tlemen, go on : ply the study in which you are engaged, 
for your own honour, the advantage of your friends, and the 
service of your country. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 101 

LESSON XXVII. 
The Muse's Hopes for America. — Bishop Berkeley. 

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime 

Barren of every glorious theme, 
In distant lands now waits a better time, 

Producing subjects worthy fame. 

In happy climes, where from the genial suit 

And virgin earth such scenes ensue, 
The force of art by nature seems outdone, 

And fancied beauties by the true. 

In happy climes, the seat of innocence, 
Where nature guides and virtue rules ; 

Where men shall not impose for truth and sense, 
The pedantry of courts and schools : 

There shall be sung another golden age, 

The rise of empires, and of arts 
The good and great, inspiring epic rage, 

The wisest heads and noblest hearts : — 

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay, — 
Such as she bred when fresh and young, 

When heavenly name did animate her clay, 
By future poets shall be sung. 

Westward the course of empire takes its way; 
The four first acts already past, 

A fifth shall close the drama, with the day- 
Time's noblest offspring is the last. 



LESSON XXVIIL 

Cleopatra "Embarking on the Cydnus. — T. K. Hervey, 

Flutes in the sunny air, 

And harps in the porphyry halls, 
And a low, deep hum, like a people's prayer, 
With its heart-breathed swells and falls ! 



102 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

♦ 

And an echo like the city's call, 

Flung back to the sounding shores ! 
And the river's ripple, heard through all, 

As it plays with the silver oars ! 
The sky is a gleam of gold ! 

And the amber breezes float 
Like thoughts to be dream'd of, but never told, 

Around the dancing boat ! 

She has stepped on the burning sand ! 

And the thousand tongues are mute ! 
And the Syrian strikes, with a trembling hand, 

The strings of his golden lute ! 
And the Ethiop's heart throbs loud and high, 

Beneath his white symar, 
And the Lybian kneels as>he meets her eye, 

Like the flash of an eastern star ! 
The gales may not be heard, 

Yet the silken streamers quiver, 
And the vessel shoots, like a bright-plumed bird, 

Away— down the golden river. 

Away by the lofty mount ! 

And away by the lonely shore ! 
And away by the gushing of many a fount 

Where fountains gush no more ! 
Oh ! for some warning vision there, 

Some voice that should have spoken 
Of climes to be laid waste and bare, 

And glad, young spirits broken ! 
Of waters dried away, 

And of hope and beauty blasted ! 
That scenes so fair and hearts so gay, 

Should be so early wasted ! 



LESSON XXIX. 

The Lumhercr's Story — A Forest on Fire.S* J. Audubon. 

" We were sound asleep one night, in a cabin about a 
hundred miles from this, when about two hours before 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 103 

day, the snorting of horses and lowing of the cattle which 
I had ranging in the woods, suddenly awakened us. I took 
yon rifle and went to the door to see what beast had caus- 
ed the hubbub, when I was struck by the glare of light re- 
flected on all the trees before me, as far as I could see 
through the woods. My horses were leaping about, snort- 
ing loudly, and the cattle ran among them with their tails 
raised straight over their backs. On going to the back of 
the house I plainly heard the crackling made by the burn- 
ing brushwood, and saw the flames coming toward us in a 
far extended line. I ran to the house, told my wife to 
. dress herself and the child as quickly as possible, and take 
the little money we had, while I managed to catch and sad- 
dle two of the best horses. All mis was done in a very 
short time, for I guessed that every moment was precious 
to us. 

" We then mounted, and made off from the fire. My 
wife, who is an excellent rider, stuck close to me ; my 
daughter, who was then a small child, I took in one arm. 
When making off, as I said, I looked back and saw that the 
frightful blaze was close upon us, and had already laid 
hold of the house. By good luck there was a horn attach- 
ed to my hunting clothes, and I blew it, to bring after us, if 
possible, the remainder of my live stock, as well as the 
dogs. The cattle followed for a while ; but, before an 
hour had elapsed, they all ran as if mad through the woods, 
and that, sir, was the last of them. My dogs, too, although 
at all other times extremely tractable, ran after the deer 
that in bodies sprang before us, as if fully aware of the 
death that was so rapidly approaching. 

'" We heard blasts from the horns of our neighbours, as 
we proceeded, and knew that they were in the same predi- 
cament. Intent on striving to the utmost to preserve our 
lives, I thought of a large lake, some miles off, which might 
possibly check the flames ; and, urging my wife to whip 
up her horse, we set off at full speed, making the best way 
we could over the fallen trees and the brush heaps, which 
lay like so many articles placed on purpose to keep up the 
terrific fires that advanced with abroad front upon us. 

" By this time we could feel the heat ; and we were 
afraid that our horses would drop every instant. A singu- 
lar kind of breeze; was passing over our heads, and the 



104 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

glare of the atmosphere shone over the daylight. I was 
sensible of a slight faintness, and my wife looked pale. 
The heat had produced such a flush in the child's face, that, 
when she turned toward either of us, our grief and perplex- 
ity were greatly increased. Ten miles, you know, are 
soon gone over on swift horses ; but, notwithstanding this, 
when we reached the borders of the lake, covered with 
sweat and quite exhausted, our hearts failed us. The heat 
of the smoke was insufferable, and sheets of blazing fire 
flew over us in a manner beyond belief. We reached the 
shore, however, coasted the lake for a while, and got round 
to the lee side. There we gave up our horses, which we 
never saw again. Down among the rushes we plunged by 
the edge of the water, and laid ourselves flat, to wait the 
chance of escaping from being burned or devoured. The 
water refreshed us, and we enjoyed the coolness. 

"On -went the fire, rushing and crashing through the 
woods. Such a sight may we never see ! The heavens' 
themselves, I thought, were frightened ; for all above us 
was a red glare, mixed with clouds and smoke, rolling and 
sweeping away. Our bodies were cool enough, but our 
heads were scorching, and the child, who now seemed to 
understand the matter, cried so as nearly to break our 
hearts. 

" The day passed on, and we became hungry. Many 
wild beasts came plunging into the water beside us, and 
others swam across to our side and stood still. Although 
faint and weary, I managed to shoot a porcupine, and we 
all tasted its flesh. The night passed I cannot tell you 
how. Smouldering fires covered the ground, and the trees 
stood like pillars of fire, or fell across each other. The 
stifling and sickening smoke still rushed over us, and the 
burnt cinders and ashes fell thick about us. How we got 
through that night I really cannot tell, for about some of it 
I remember nothing." 

Here the lumberer paused and took breath. The recital 
of his adventure seemed to have exhausted him. His wife 
proposed that we should have a bowl of milk, and the 
daughter having handed it to us, we each took a draught. 
" Now," said he, " I will proceed. Toward morning, 
although the heat did not abate, the smoke became less, 
and blasts of fresh air sometimes made their way to us. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 105 

When morning came, all was calm, but a dismal smoke 
still filled the air, and the smell seemed worse than ever. 
We were now cool enough, and shivered as if in an ague 
fit ; so we removed from the water, and went up to a burn- 
ing log, where we warmed ourselves. What was to be- 
come of us I did not know. My wife hugged the child to 
her breast, and wept bitterly ; but God had preserved us 
through the worst of the danger, and the flames had gone 
past, so I thought it would be both ungrateful to Him, and 
unmanly, to despair now. Hunger once more pressed up- 
on us, but this was soon remedied. Several deer were 
still standing in the water, up to the head, and I shot one 
of them. Some of its flesh was soon roasted ; and, after 
eating it, we felt wonderfully strengthened. 

" By this time the blaze of the fire was beyond our sight, 
although the ground was still burning in many places, and 
it was dangerous to go among the burnt trees. After rest- 
ing awhile, and trimming ourselves, we prepared to com- 
mence our march. Taking up the child, I led the way 
over the hot ground and rocks ; and, after two weary days 
and nights, during which we shifted in the best manner we 
could, we at last reached the hard woods, which had been 
free from the fire. Soon after, we came to a house, where 
we were kindly treated for a while. Since then, sir, I 
have worked hard and constantly as a lumberer ; but, 
thanks to God, we are safe, sound, and happy !" 



LESSON XXX. 

The Heavenly Bodies. — Chalmers. 

It is truly a most Christian exercise to extract a senti- 
ment of piety from the works and the appearances of na- 
ture. It has the authority of the Sacred Writers upon its 
side, and even our Saviour himself gives it the weight and 
the solemnity of his example. " Behold the lilies of the 
field : they toil not, neither do they spin ; yet your heaven- 
ly father careth for them." He expatiates on the beauty 
of a single flower, and draws from it the delightful argu- 
ment of confidence in God. He gives us to see that taste 



106 THE ELOCUTIONIST. I 

may be combined with piety, and that the same heart may 
be occupied with all that is serious in the contemplation of 
religion, and be at the same time alive to the charms and the 
loveliness of nature. 

The Psalmist takes a still loftier flight. He leaves the 
world, and lifts his imagination to that mighty expanse 
which spreads above it and around it. He wings his way 
through space, and wanders in thought over its immeasur- 
able regions. Instead of a dark and unpeopled solitude, he 
sees it crowned with splendour, and filled with the energy 
of the Divine presence. Creation rises in its immensity be- 
fore him, and the world, with all which it inherits, shrinks 
into littleness at a contemplation so vast and so overpower- 
ing. He wonders that he is not overlooked amid the gran- 
deur and the variety which are on every side of him ; and 
passing upward from the majesty of nature to the majesty 
of nature's Architect, he exclaims, "What is man, that 
thou art mindful of him ; or the son of man, that thou 
shouldst deign to visit him !" 

It is not for us to say, whether inspiration revealed to the 
Psalmist the wonders of the modern astronomy. But even 
though the mind be a perfect stranger to the science of 
these enlightened times, the heavens present a great and 
elevating spectacle, an immense co'ncave reposing upon the 
circular boundary of the world, and the innumerable lights 
which are suspended from on high, moving with solemn re- 
gularity along its surface. It seems to have been at night 
that the piety of the Psalmist was awakened by this con- 
templation, when the moon and the stars were visible, and 
not when the sun had risen in his strength, and thrown a 
splendour around him, which bore down and eclipsed all 
the lesser glories of the firmament. 

And there is much in the scenery* of a nocturnal sky, to 
lift the soul to pious contemplation. That moon, and these 
stars, what are they ] They are detached from the world, 
and they lift you above it. You feel withdrawn from the 
earth, and rise in lofty abstraction above this little theatre 
of human passions and human anxieties. The mind aban- 
dons itself to reverie, and is transferred, in the ecstacy of 
its thoughts, to distant and unexplored regions. It sees 
nature in the simplicity of her great elements, and it sees 
the God of nature invested with the high attributes of wis- 
dom and majesty. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 107 

But what can these lights be ? The curiosity of the hu- 
man mind is insatiable, and the mechanism of these won- 
derful heavens, has, in all ages, been its subject and its em- 
ployment. It has been reserved for these latter times, to 
resolve this great and interesting question. The sublimest 
powers of philosophy have been called to the exercise, and 
astronomy may now be looked upon as the most certain and 
best established of the sciences. 

We all know that every visible object appears less in 
magnitude as it recedes from the eye. The lofty vessel, as 
it retires from the coast, shrinks into littleness, and at last 
appears in the form of a small speck on the verge of the ho- 
rizon. The eagle, with its expanded wings, is a noble ob- 
ject ; but when it takes its flight into the upper regions of 
the air, it becomes less to the eye, and is seen like a dark 
spot upon the vault of heaven. The same is true of all 
magnitude. The heavenly bodies appear small to the eye 
of an inhabitant of this earth, only from the immensity of 
their distance. When we talk of hundreds of millions of 
miles, it is not to be listened to as incredible. For remem- 
ber, that we are talking of those bodies which are scattered 
over the immensity of space, and that space knows no ter- 
mination. 

The conception is great and difficult, but the truth is un- 
questionable. By a process of measurement which it is un- 
necessary at present to explain, we have ascertained, first 
the distance, and then the magnitude, of some of those bo- 
dies which roll in the firmament : that the sun which pre- 
sents itself to the eye under so diminutive a form, is really 
a globe, exceeding, by many thousands of times, the di- 
mensions of the earth which we inhabit ; that the moon 
itself has the magnitude of a world ; and that even a few of 
those stars, which appear like so many lucid points to the 
unassisted eye of the observer, expand into large circles up- 
on the application of the telescope, and are some of them 
much larger than the ball which we tread upon, and to 
which we proudly apply the denomination of the universe. 

Now, what is the fair and obvious presumption ? The 
world in which we live, is a round ball of a determined 
magnitude, and occupies its own place in the firmament. 
But when we explore the unlimited tracts of that space, 
which is every where around us, we meet with other balls 



108 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

of equal or superior magnitude, and from which our earth 
would be either invisible, or appear as small as any of those 
twinkling stars which are seen on the canopy of heaven. 



LESSON XXXI. 

The Same Subject continued. — Chalmers. 

, Why then suppose that this little spot, little at least in 
the immensity which surrounds it, should be the exclusive 
abode of life and of intelligence 1 What reason to think 
that those mightier globes which roll in other parts of cre- 
ation, and which we have discovered to be worlds in mag- 
nitude, are not also worlds in use and in dignity ] Why 
should we think that the great Architect of Nature, su- 
preme in wisdom as he is in power, would call these stately 
mansions into existence, and leave them unoccupied] 
When we cast our eye over the broad sea, and lcfok at the 
country on the other side, we see nothing but the blue land 
stretching obscurely over the distant horizon. We are too 
far away to perceive the richness of its scenery, or to hear 
the sound of its population. 

Why not extend this principle to the still more distant 
parts of the universe ? What though, from this remote 
point of observation, we can see nothing but the naked 
roundness of yon planetary orbs ] are we therefore to 
say, that they are so many vast and unpeopled solitudes ; 
that desolation reigns in every part of the universe but 
ours ; that the whole energy of the divine attributes is ex- 
pended on one insignificant corner of these mighty works ; 
and that to this earth alone belong the bloom of vegeta- 
tion, or the blessedness of life, or the dignity of rational 
and immortal existence ] 

But this is not all. We have something more than the 
mere magnitude of the planets, to allege in favour of the 
idea that they are inhabited. We know that this earth 
turns round upon itself; and we observe that all those ce- 
lestial bodies which are accessible to such an observation, 
have the same movement. We know that the earth per- 
forms a yearly revolution round the sun ; and we can de- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 109 

tect, in all the planets which compose our system, a revo- 
lution of the same kind, and under the same circumstan- 
ces. They have the same succession of day and night. 
They have the same agreeable vicissitude of the seasons. 
To them light and darkness succeed each other ; and the 
gaiety of summer is followed by the dreariness of winter. 
To each of them the heavens present as varied and mag- 
nificent a spectacle : and this earth, the encompassing of 
which would require the labour of years from one of its 
puny inhabitants, is but one of the lesser lights which 
sparkle in their firmament. 

To them, as well as to us, has God divided the light 
from the darkness, and he has called the light day, and the 
darkness he has called night. He has said, let there be 
lights in the firmament of their heaven, to divide the day 
from the night ; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, 
and for days, and for years ; and let them be for lights in 
the firmament of heaven, to give light upon their earth ; 
and it was so. And G-od has also made to them great 
lights. To all of them he has given the sun to rule the 
day ; and to many of them has he gi^en moons to rule the 
night. To them he has made the stars also. And God 
has set them in the firmament of heaven, to give light upon 
their earth ; and to rule over the day, and over the night, 
and to divide the light from the darkness ; and God has 
seen that it was good. 

In all these greater arrangements of divine wisdom, we 
can see that God has done the same things for the accom- 
modation of the planets that he has done for the earth 
which we inhabit. And shall we say, that the resemblance 
stops here, because we are not in a situation to observe it % 
Shall we say, that this scene of magnificence has been 
called into being merely for the amusement of a few as- 
tronomers 1 Shall we measure the counsels of heaven by 
the narrow impotence of the human faculties ] or con- 
ceive, that silence and solitude reign throughout the mighty 
empire of nature, that the greater part of creation is an 
empty parade, and that not a worshipper of the Divinity 
is to be found through the wide extent of yon vast and im- 
measurable regions ] 



110 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

LESSOft XXXII. 
The true Source of Reform. — Chap in. 

The great element of Reform is not born of human wis- 
dom ; it does not draw its life from human organizations. 
I find it only in Christianity. " Thy kingdom come !" 
There is a sublime and pregnant burden in this Prayer. It 
is the aspiration of every soul that goes forth in the spirit of 
Reform. For what is the significance of this Prayer ] It 
is a petition that all holy influences would penetrate and 
subdue and dwell in the heart of man, until he shall think, 
and speak, and do good, from the very necessity of his be- 
ing. So would the institutions of error and wrong crumble 
and pass away. So would sin die out from the earth. 
And the human soul, living in harmony with the Divine 
Will, this earth would become like Heaven. 

It is too late for the Reformers to sneer at Christianity 
— it is foolishness for them to reject it. In it are enshrin- 
ed our faith in human progress — our confidence in Reform. 
It is indissolubly connected with all that is hopeful, spiritu- 
al, capable in man. That men have misunderstood it and 
perverted it, is true. But it is also true that the noblest ef- 
forts for human melioration have come out of it — have been 
based upon it. Is it not so l Come, ye remembered ones, 
who sleep the sleep of the Just, who took your conduct 
from the line of Christian Philosophy — come from your 
tombs, and answer ! 

Come Howard, from the gloom of the prison and the 
taint of the lazar-house, and show us what Philanthropy 
can do when imbued with the spirit of Jesus. Come Eli- 
ot, from the thick forest where the red-man listens to the 
Word of Life — come Penn, from thy sweet counsel and 
weaponless victory ; and show us what Christian Zeal and 
Christian Love can accomplish with the rudest barbarians 
or the fiercest hearts. Come Raikes, from thy labours 
with the ignorant and the poor, and show us with what an 
eye this Faith regards the lowest and least of our race, and 
how diligently it labours, not for the body, not for the rank, 
but for the plastic soul that is to course the ages of immor- 
tality. 



PIECES FOR HEADING AND DECLAMATION. Ill 

And ye, who are a great number — ye nameless ones — 
who have done good in your narrower spheres, content to 
forego renown on earth, and seeking your Reward in the 
Record on High, come and tell us how kindly a spirit, how 
lofty a purpose, or how strong a courage, the Religion ye 
professed can breathe into the poor, the humble, and the 
weak. 

Go forth, then, Spirit of Christianity, to thy great work 
of Reform ! The Past bears witness to thee in the blood 
of thy martyrs, and the ashes of thy saints and heroes. — 
The Present is hopeful because of thee, The Future shall 
acknowledge thy omnipotence. 



WESSON XXXIII. 
A Psalm of Life. — H. W. Longfellow. 

Tell mc not, in mournful numbers, 

Life is but an empty dream ; 
For the soul is dead* that slumbers, 

And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real — life is earnest, 

But the grave is not its goal ; 
" Dust thou art — to dust returnest," 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way ; 
But to act that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In this world's broad field of battle — 

In the bivouac of life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ; 

Be a hero in the strife ! 
D2 



112 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Trust no' Future, howe'er pleasant ; 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ; 
Act — act in the living Present ! 

Heart within, and God o'er head ! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime ; 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footsteps on the sand of time ! — 

Footsteps, that perhaps another, 
Sailing o'er Life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 
With a heart for any fate ; 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labour and to wait. 



LESSON XXXIV. 

Employment of Winter Evenings by the Young. — Prentice. 

During the winter season, most of the young of our land, 
particularly those of the country, have the evening at their 
own disposal, to devote to amusement, recreation, or what- 
ever pursuit they choose. We speak now of those who 
are employed in some active or necessary pursuit during 
the day, and to whom evening brings their only leisure ; 
for the youth who has not some such employment, or who 
does not seek it, is not the one to be benefited by any 
thing that may be said on the improvement of his leisure 
hours. We therefore address our remarks to the indus- 
trious youth of our country, who are trained to useful and 
laudable purposes. Such young men will hail the long 
evenings of this season with delight, and bless the glad 
hours which they may devote uninterruptedly to the culti- 
vation of their minds. 

Few young men are at all aware of the amount of valu- 
able knowledge of which they might become the masters 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION., 113 

and possessors, by a careful and judicious improvement of 
the leisure afforded by the evenings of a single winter ; 
and, when we add to this, the acquisition of ten or fifteen 
winters, the aggregate amount of what a youth of com- 
mon capacity might attain would make him a learned man 
in any section of the Union. Many who rendered them- 
selves eminent and useful in their day — the Franklins, 
the Shermans, the Rittenhouses, and the Bowditches of 
our own country — the Watts, the Fergusons, and the Simp- 
sons of England — names conspicuous in the list of bene- 
factors of their species — made themselves what they were 
by a diligent use of less leisure time than falls to the lot of 
four-fifths of the young men of the United States. 

i The greatest men of every age have in general been self- 
taught and self-made. They have risen from obscurity, and 
struggled with adverse circumstances. A diligent use of 
their time, a habit of studying and labouring while others 
slept or played, — a steady perseverance, and an indomita- 
ble energy, gave them their attainments and their eminence. 
Cicero, by far the most learned man of all antiquity, as 
well as the greatest orator of Rome, lets us at once into the 
secret of all his vast and varied learning, when he tells us 
that the time which others gave to feasts, and dice, and 
sports, he devoted to patient study. 

It matters not what may be a young man's intended pur- 
suit in life ; he cannot choose any, for which reading and 
study during his leisure hours, will not the better qualify 
him, If he is to be a farmer, let him read books and trea- 
tises on agriculture ; if he is to be a mechanic, let him study 
the mathematics and the works on mechanism and architec- 
ture ; if he is to be a merchant, let him become famil- 
iar with the principles of political economy, the statis- 
tics of trade, and the history of commerce ; and, finally, if 
he is to be an American citizen, one of the millions to 
whom is to be intrusted the rich heritage of civil and reli- 
gious liberty bequeathed to us by our fathers, let him study 
well the history, the constitution, and the institutions of 
the United States, and let him contemplate frequently the 
lives and character of those who wrought out and framed 
our liberties. 

Nor is the knowledge to be thus acquired the only in- 
ducement for a young man to devote the hours of his lei- 
d3 



114 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

sure to reading and study. The pleasure to be found in 
such pursuits is as much superior to that transient and gid- 
dy excitement attendant merely on the gayer amusements, 
as it is purer, more elegant, and more refined. The young 
man, too, who accustoms his mind to find pleasure and 
gratification in reading and study, can never want for soci- 
ety ; for he creates around him a society of which he can 
never be deprived — a society which will never weary of 
his presence, which has nothing cold, or artificial, or false — 
a society composed of the very elect of the earth — the mas- 
ter minds of all ages and all countries. With them he can 
retire into his library, to spend a leisure hour, whenever 
opportunity occurs, certain of finding them ever ready to 
delight and instruct. 



LESSON XXXV. 
Books. — Robert Southey. 

My days among the dead are past ; 

Around me I behold, 
Where'er these casual eyes are cast, 

The mighty minds of old : , 

My never failing friends are they, 
With whom I converse, day by day. 

With them I take delight in weal, 

And seek relief in woe ; 
And, when I understand and feel 

How much to them I owe, 
My cheeks have often been bedew'd 
With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 

My thoughts are with the dead ; — with them, 

I live in long past years ; 
Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 

Partake their hopes and fears; 
And, from their lessons, seek and find 
Instruction with an humble mind. 



PIECES FOR HEADING AND DECLAMATION. 115 

My hopes are with the dead ; anon 

My place with them will be ; 
And with them \ shall travel on 

Through all futurity ; 
Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 
Which will not perish in the dust. 



LESSON XXXVI. 

Helvellyn. — Walter Scott. 

In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most am» 
iable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Helvel- 
lyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, 
when they were found guarded by a faithful dog, his constant attend- 
ant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland 
and Westmoreland. 

I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, 

Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and 
wide ; 
All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, 

And, starting around me, the ecnoes replied. 
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, 
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, 
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, 

When I mark'd the sad spot where the wand'rer had 
died. 

Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain heather, 

Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in decay, 
Like the corpse of an outcast, abandon'd to weather, 
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, 
For faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, 
The much-loved remains of her master defended, 
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. 

How long did'st thou think that his silence was slumber ? 
When the wind waved his garment, how oft did'st thou 
start? 
How many long days and long weeks did'st thou number, 
Ere faded before thee the friend of thy heart ? 
d4 



116 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

And oh ! was it meet, that, — no requiem read o'er him, — i 
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, — 
And thou, little guardian, alohe stretch'd before him, — 
Unhonour'd the Pilgrim from life should depart ? 

When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, 

The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall ; 
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 
, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleam* 

tag; 

In the proudly arch'd chapel the banners are beaming ; 
Far down the long aisle sacred music is streaming, 
Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall. ' 

But meetcr for thee, gentle lover of nature, 

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, 
When wilder' d he drops from some cliff* huge in stature, 

And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 
And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, 
Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying, 
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, 
In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. 



LESSON XXXVII. 

Character of Pitt. — Grattan. 

The Secretary stood alone; modern degeneracy had not 
reached him. Original and unaccommodating, the features 
of his character had the hardihood of antiquity. His au- 
gust mind overawed majesty ; and one of his sovereigns 
thought royalty so imp aired in his presence, that he con- 
spired to remove him, in order to be relieved from his su- 
periority. No state chicanery, no narrow system of vicious 
politics, sank him to the vulgar level of the great ; but 
overbearing, persuasive, and impracticable, his object was 
England, his ambition was fame. Without dividing, he de- 
stroyed party ; without corrupting, he made a venal age 
unanimous. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 117 

France sank beneath him. With one hand he smote the 
house of Bourbon, and wielded with the other the demo- 
cracy of England. The sight of his mind was infinite ; and 
his schemes were to affect not England, and the present 
age only, but Europe and posterity. Wonderful were the 
means by which these schemes were accomplished ; always 
seasonable, always adequate, the suggestions of an under- 
standing animated by ardour and enlightened by prophecy. 

The ordinary feelings which render life amiable and in- 
dolent, were unknown to him. No domestic difficulty, no 
domestic weakness reached him, but, aloof from the sordid 
occurrences of life, and unsullied by its intercourse, he 
came occasionally into our system to counsel and to decide. 
A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, and so au- 
thoritative, astonished a corrupt age ; and the Treasury 
trembled at the name of Pitt through all her classes of ve- 
nality. Corruption imagined, indeed, that she had found 
defects in this statesman, and talked much of the inconsis- 
tency of his glory, and much of the ruin of his victories ; 
but the history of his country and the calamities of the en- 
emy refuted her. 

Nor were his political abilities his only talents : his elo- 
quence was an era in the senate ; peculiar and spontane- 
ous, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and instinc- 
tive wisdom ; not like the torrent of Demosthenes, or the 
splendid conflagration of Tully, it resembled sometime* 
the thunder, and sometimes the music of the spheres. He 
did not, like Murray, conduct the understanding through 
the painful subtlety of argumentation, nor was he, like 
Townshend, forever on the rack of exertion ; but rather 
lightened upon the subject, and reached the point by flash- 
ings of the mind, which, like those of his eye, were felt, 
but could not be followed. 

Upon the whole, there was something in this man that 
could create, subvert, or reform ; an understanding, a spirit, 
and an eloquence, to summon mankind to society, or to 
break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the wil- 
derness of free minds with unbounded authority — some- 
thing that could establish or overwhelm empires, and strike 
a blow in the world which should resound throughout the 
universe. 

d5 



118 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

LESSON XXXVIII. 
Apostrophe to the Queen of France. — Burke. 

It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the 
Queen of France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles ; and 
surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed 
to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above 
the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere 
she just began to move in — glittering like the morning star; 
full of life, and splendour, and joy. 

Oh ! what a revolution ! and what a heart must I have, 
to contemplate without emotion that elevation and that 
fall! 

Little did I dream that when she added titles of venera- 
tion to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that 
she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote 
against disgrace concealed in that bosom; little did I 
dream that I should have lived to see such disasters heap- 
ed upon her in a nation of gallant men ; in a nation of men 
of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords 
must have leaped from their scabbards, to avenge even a 
look that threatened her with insult. 

But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, 
economists, and calculators, has succeeded ; and the glory 
of Europe is extinguished forever. Never, never more, 
shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that 
proud submission, that dignified obedience, that subordina- 
tion of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, 
the spirit of an exalted freedom. 

Theunbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, 
the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise — is gone ! 
It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of hon- 
our, which felt a stain like a wound ; which inspired cour- 
age, whilst it mitigated ferocity; which ennobled whatev- 
er it touched ; and under which vice itself lost half its evil, 
by losing all its grossness. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 119 

LESSON XXXIX. 

Story of tlie Siege of Calais, — Brooke. 

Edward III. after the battle of Cressy, laid siege to 
Calais. He had fortified his camp in so impregnable' a 
manner, that all the efforts of France proved ineffectual to 
raise the siege, or throw succours into the city. The citi- 
zens, under Count Vienne, their gallant governor, made an 
admirable defence. France had now put the sickle into 
her second harvest, since E dward, with his victorious ar- 
my, sat down before the town. The eyes of all Europe 
were intent on the issue. 

At length, famine did more for Edward than arms. Af- 
ter suffering unheard-of calamities, the French resolved to 
attempt the enemy's camp. They boldly sallied forth ; the 
English joined battle ; and after a long and desperate engage- 
ment, Count Vienne was taken prisoner, and the citizens 
who survived the slaughter retired within their gates. The 
command devolving upon Eustace St. Pierre, a man of 
mean birth, but of exalted virtue, he offered to capitulate 
with Edward, provided he permitted them to depart with 
life and liberty. Edward, to avoid the imputation of cru- 
elty, consented to spare the bulk of the plebeians, provided 
they delivered up to him six of their principal citizens with 
halters about their necks, as victims of due atonement for 
that spirit of rebellion with which they had inflamed the 
vulgar. When his messenger, Sir Walter Mauny, deliver- 
ed the terms, consternation and pale dismay were impress- 
ed on every countenance. 

To a long and dead silence, deep sighs and groans suc- 
ceeded, till Eustace St. Pierre, getting up to a little emi- 
nence, thus addressed the assembly : — " My friends, we are 
brought to great straits this day. We must either yield to 
the terms of our cruel and ensnaring conqueror, or give up 
our tender infants, our wives, and daughters, to the bloody 
and brutal lusts of the violating soldiers. Is there any ex- 
pedient left, whereby we may avoid the guilt and infamy of 
delivering up those who have suffered every misery with 
you, on the one hand, or the desolation and horror of a sack- 
ed city, on the other 1 There is, my friends ; there is one 
d6 



120 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

expedient left ! — a gracious, an excellent, a godlike expe- 
dient left ! Is there any here to whom virtue is dearer than 
life 1 Let him offer himself an oblation for the safety of his 
people ! He shall not fail of a blessed approbation from 
that Power who offered up his only Son for the salvation of 
mankind." 

He spoke ; — but a universal silence ensued. Each man 
looked around for the example of that virtue and magna- 
nimity which all wished to approve in themselves, though 
they wanted the resolution. At length St. Pierre resum- 
ed : "I doubt not but there are many here as ready, nay, 
more zealous of this martyrdom, than I can be ; though the 
station to which I am raised by the captivity of Lord Vi- 
enne, imparts a right to be the first in giving my life for 
your sakes. I give it freely ; I give it cheerfully. Who 
comes next ]" 

" Your son !" exclaimed a youth not yet come to maturi- 
ty. — " Ah ! my child!" cried St. Pierre ; " I am then twice 
sacrificed. — But no ; I have rather begotten thee a second 
time. Thy years are few, but full, my son. The victim of 
virtue has reached the utmost purpose and goal of mortali- 
ty ! Who next, my friends 1 This is the hour of heroes." 

" Your kinsman," cried John de Aire. — "Your kinsman," 
cried James Wissant. — " Your kinsman," cried Peter Wis- 
sant. — " Ah !" exclaimed Sir Walter Mauny, bursting into 
tears, " why was not I a citizen of Calais V 9 

The sixth victim was still wanting, but was quickly sup- 
plied by lot, from numbers who were now emulous of so en- 
nobling an example. The keys of the city were then de- 
livered to Sir Walter. He took the six prisoners into his 
custody ; then ordered the gates to be opened, and gave 
charge to his attendants to conduct the remaining citizens, 
with their families, through the camp of the English. Be- 
fore they departed, however, they desired permission to 
take a last adieu of their deliverers. 

What a parting ! what a scene ! they crowded with theii 
wives and children about St. Pierre and his fellow-prison- 
ers. They embraced ; they clung around ; they fell pros- 
trate before them : they groaned ; they wept aloud ; and 
the joint clamour of their mourning passed the gates of the 
city, and was heard throughout the English camp. 



PIECES FOK. READING AND DECLAMATION. 121 

LESSON XL. 

The same Story Continued. — Brooke. 

The English, by this time, were apprized of what pass- 
ed within Calais. They heard the voice of lamentation, 
and their souls were touched with compassion. Each of 
the soldiers prepared a portion of his own victuals, to wel- 
come and entertain the half-famished inhabitants ; and they 
loaded them with as much as their present weakness was 
able to bear, in order to supply them with sustenance by 
the way. 

At length, St. Pierre and his fellow-victims appeared, un- 
der conduct of Sir Walter and a guard. ' All the tents of 
the English were instantly emptied. The soldiers poured 
from all parts, and arranged themselves on each side, to be- 
hold, to contemplate, to admire, this little band of patriots, 
as they passed. They bowed to them on all sides ; they 
murmured their applause of that virtue which they could 
not but revere, even in enemies ; and they regarded those 
ropes, which they had voluntarily assumed about their necks, 
as ensigns of greater dignity than that of the British gar- 
ter. 

As soon as they had reached the presence, " Mauny,"says 
the monarch, " are these the principal inhabitants of Ca- 
lais V 1 — " They are," says Mauny : " they are not only the 
principal men of Calais, they are the principal men of 
France, my Lord, if virtue has any share in the act of en- 
nobling." — "Were they delivered peaceably?" says Ed- 
ward : " was there no resistance, no commotion among 
the people ]" — " Not in the least, my Lord : the people 
would all have perished, rather than have delivered the 
least of these to your Majesty. They are self-delivered, 
self-devoted ; and come to offer up their inestimable heads 
as an ample equivalent for the ransom of thousands." 

Edward was secretly piqued at this reply of Sir Walter ; 
but he knew the privilege of a British subject, and suppress- 
ed his resentment. "Experience," says he, "has ever 
shown, that lenity only serves to invite people to new 
crimes. Severity, at times, is indispensably necessary to 
compel subjects to submission by punishment and example, 



122 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

— Go," he cried to an officer, " lead these men to execu- 
tion." 

At this instant, a sound of triumph was heard through- 
out the camp. The Queen had just arrived with a power- 
ful reinforcement of gallant troops. Sir Walter Mauny 
flew to receive her Majesty, and briefly informed her of 
the particulars respecting the six victims. 

As soon as she had been welcomed by Edward and his 
court, she desired a private audience : — " My Lord," said 
she, " the question I am to enter upon, is not touching the 
lives of a few mechanics — it respects the honour of the En- 
glish nation ; it respects the glory of my Edward, my hus- 
band, my king. You think you have sentenced six of your 
enemies to death. No, my Lord, they have sentenced them- 
selves ; and their execution would be the execution of their 
own orders, not the orders of Edward. The stage on 
which they would suffer, would be to them a stage of hon- 
our; but a stage of shame to Edward — a reproach to his 
conquests — an indelible disgrace to his name. Let us ra- 
ther disappoint these haughty burghers, who wish to invest 
themselves with glory at our expense. We cannot wholly 
deprive them of the merit of a sacrifice so nobly intended ; 
but we may cut them short of their desires. In the place 
of that death by which their glory would be consummate, let ( 
us bury them under gifts ; let us put them to confusion 
with applauses. We shall thereby defeat them of that pop- 
ular opinion which never fails to attend those who suffer in 
the cause of virtue." 

" I am convinced : you have prevailed. Be it so," repli- 
ed Edward : " prevent the execution : have them instantly 
before us." They came : when the Queen, with an as- 
pect and accents diffusing sweetness, thus bespoke them : — 

" Natives of France, and inhabitants of Calais, ye have 
put us to avast expense of blood and treasure, in the recov- 
ery of our just and natural inheritance ; but you have acted 
up to the best of an erroneous judgment, and we admire 
and honour in you that valour and virtue, by which we are 
so long kept out of our rightful possessions. You noble 
burghers ! you excellent citizens ! though you were ten- 
fold the enemies of our person and our throne, we can feel 
nothing, on our part, save respect and affection for you. 
You have been sufficiently tested. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 123 

" We loose your chains ; we snatch you from the scaffold ; 
and we thank you for that lesson of humiliation which you 
teach us, when you show us, that excellence is not of blood, 
title, or station ; that virtue gives a dignity superior to that 
of kings ; and that those whom the Almighty informs with 
sentiments like yours, are justly and eminently raised 
above all human distinctions. You are now free to depart 
to your kinsfolk, your countrymen — to all those whose 
lives and liberties you have so nobly defended — provided 
you refuse not the tokens of our esteem. Yet we would 
rather bind you to ourselves by every endearing obligation ; 
and, for this purpose, we offer to you your choice of the 
gifts and honours that Edward has to bestow. Rivals for 
fame, but always friends to virtue, we wish that England 
were entitled to call you her sons." ' 

"Ah, my country !" exclaimed Pierre; "it is now that 
I tremble for you. Edward only wins our cities; but 
Philippa conquers our hearts." 



LESSON XLI. 
Elegy in a Country Churchyard. — Gray. 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea, 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant fold : — 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, 
Where heaves the tuif in many a mould'ring heap, 

Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 



124 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed! 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care : 

No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke : 

How jocund did they drive their team afield! 

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Await alike th' inevitable hour, — 

The paths of glory lead — but to the grave ! 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If memory o'er their tombs no trophies raise, 

"Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn, or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ] 

Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust ? 
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? 

Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid, 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; — 

Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre ! 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 125 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood — 

Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest — 
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 

Th' applause of list ning senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined— 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; — 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 

Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
Their sober wishes never learn' d to stray ; 

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect, 

Some frail memorial, still erected nigh, 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spell'd by th' unletter'd Muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

To teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 

This pleasing, anxious being, e'er resign'd, 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind % 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 

Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 
Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. 



126 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, 

" Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 
If, 'chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 

Haply, some hoary-headed swain may say, 
" Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, 

Brushing with hasty steps the dew away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

" There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

" Hard by yon wood, now, smiling as in scorn, 
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 

Now drooping, woful, Van, like one forlorn, 
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love 

" One morn, I miss'd him on th' accustom'd hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; 

Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, * 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 

" The next~- with dirges due, in sad array, 

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne- 
Approach, and read — for thou can'st read — the lay, 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. ,, 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown : 

Fair Science frown' d not on his humble birth, 
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 
He gave to Misery all he had, — a tear ; 

He gain'd from heaven — 'twas all he wish'd — ajfiiend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode — 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose !) — 
The bosom of his Father and his God ! 



PIECES FOE READING AND DECLAMATION. 127 

LESSON XLII. 

America and Ireland.~*C Phillips* 

The mention of America has never failed to fill me with 
the most lively emotion. In my earliest youth, that tender 
season when impressions, at once the most permanent and 
the most powerful, are likely to be excited, the story of her 
then recent struggle raised a throb in every heart that lov- 
ed liberty, and wrung a reluctant tribute even from discom- 
fited oppression. I saw her spurning alike the luxuries 
that would enervate, and the legions that would intimidate ; 
dashing from her lips the poisoned cup of European servi- 
tude ; and, through all the vicissitudes of her protracted 
conflict, displaying a magnanimity that defied misfortune, 
a moderation that gave new grace to victory. It was the 
first vision of my childhood ; it will descend with me to the 
grave. 

But if, as a man, I venerate the mention of America, 
what must be my feelings towards her as an Irishman ! 
Never, O never, while memory remains, can Ireland for- 
get the home of her emigrant, and the asylum of her exile* 
No matter whether their sorrows sprang from the errors 
of enthusiasm, or the realities of suffering ; from fancy, or 
infliction ; that must be reserved for the scrutiny of those, 
whom the lapse of time shall acquit of partiality. It is for 
the men of other ages to investigate and record it. But 
surely, it is for the men of every age to hail the hospitality 
that received the shelterless, and love the feeling that be- 
friended the unfortunate. 

Search creation round, where can you find a country 
that presents so sublime a view, so interesting an anticipa- 
tion % What noble institutions ! What a comprehensive 
policy ! What a wise equalization of every political advan- 
tage ! The oppressed of all countries, the martyrs of ev- 
ery creed, the innocent victim of despotic arrogance or su- 
perstitious frenzy, may there find a refuge ; his industry 
encouraged, his piety respected, his ambition animated ,* 
with no restraint but those laws, which are the same to all, 
and no distinction but that, which his merit may originate* 
Who can deny that the existence of such a country presents 
a subject for human congratulation ! Who can deny, that 



128 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

its gigantic advancement offers ■ a field tor the most ration- 
al conjecture ! At the end of the next century, if she pro- 
ceeds as she seems to promise, what a wondrous spectacle 
may she not exhibit ! Who shall say for what purpose a 
mysterious Providence may not have designed her ! Who 
shall say that when, in its follies or its crimes, the old 
world may have interred all the pride of its power, and all 
the pomp of its civilization, human nature may not find its 
destined renovation in the new ! 

For myself, I have no doubt of it. I have not the least 
doubt, that when our temples and our trophies shall have 
mouldered into dust — when the glories of our name shall 
be but the legend of tradition, and the light of our achieve- 
ments only live in song, philosophy will rise again in the 
sky of her Franklin, and glory rekindle at the urn of her 
Washington. Is this the vision of a romantic fancy ] Is 
it even improbable ] Is it half so improbable as the events, 
which for the last twenty years have rolled like successive 
tides over the surface of the European world, each erasing 
the impression that preceded it ] 

Thousands upon thousands, Sir, I know there are, who 
will consider this supposition as wild and whimsical ; but 
they have dwelt with little reflection upon the records of 
the past. They have but ill observed the never-ceasing 
progress of national rise and national ruin. They form 
their judgment on the deceitful stability of the present hour, 
never considering the innumerable monarchies and repub- 
lics, in former days apparently as permanent, their very ex- 
istence become now the subjects of speculation — I had al- 
most said, of scepticism. 

I appeal to History ! Tell me, thou reverend chronicler 
of the grave, can all the illusions of ambition realized, can 
all the wealth of an universal commerce, can all the achieve- 
ments of successful heroism, or all the establishments of this 
world's wisdom, secure to empire the permanency of its 
possessions 1 Alas, Troy thought so once ; yet the land 
of Priam lives only in song ! Thebes thought so once, yet 
her hundred gates have crumbled, and her very tombs are 
but as the dust they were vainly intended to commemorate. 
So thought Palmyra — where is she ] So thought the coun- 
tries of Demosthenes and the Spartan, yet Leonidas is 
trampled by the timid slave, and Athens insulted by the ser- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 129 

vile, mindless, and enervate Ottoman. In his hurried march, 
Time has but looked at their imagined immortality — and all . 
their vanities, from the palace to the tomb, have, with their 
ruins, erased the very impression of his footsteps ! The 
days of their glory are as if they had never been ; and the 
island, that was then a speck, rude and neglected in the bar- 
ren ocean, now rivals the ubiquity of their commerce, the 
glory of their arms, the fame of their philosophy, the elo- 
quence of their senate, and the inspiration of their bards ! 

Who shall say, then, contemplating the past, that Eng- 
land, proud and potent as she appears, may not one day be 
what Athens is, and the young America yet soar to be what 
Athens was % Who shall say, when the European column 
shall have mouldered, and the night of barbarism obscured 
its very ruins, that that mighty continent may not emerge 
from the horizon, to rule, for its time, sovereign of the as- 
cendant ! 



LESSON LXIIL 
Tribute to Washington. — C. Phillips. 

Allow me to add one flower to the chaplet, which, though 
it sprang in America, is no exotic. Virtue planted it, and 
it is naturalized every where. I see you anticipate . me 
— I see you concur with me, that it matters very little 
what spot may be the birth-place of such a man as Wash- 
ington. No people can claim, no country can appropriate 
him. The boon of Providence to the human race, his fame 
is eternity, and his residence creation. Though it was the 
defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our policy, I almost 
bless the convulsion in which he had his origin. If the 
heavens thundered, and the earth rocked, yet, when the 
storm had passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared ! 
how bright, in the brow of the firmament, was the planet 
which it revealed to us ! 

In the production of Washington, it does really appear 
as if Nature was endeavouring to improve upon herself, and 
that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many 
studies preparatory to the patriot of the new. Individual 



130 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

instances, no doubt there were, splendid exemplifications 
of some singular qualification: Caesar was merciful, Sci- 
pio was continent, Hannibal was patient ; but it was re- 
served for Washington to blend them all in one, and, like 
the lovely masterpiece of the Grecian artist, to exhibit, in 
one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, 
and the perfection of every master. 

As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, 
and supplied by discipline the absence of experience ; as 
a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the 
most comprehensive system of general advantage ; and such 
was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his 
counsels, that, to the soldier and the statesman, he almost 
added the character of the sage ! A conqueror, he was un- 
tainted with the crime of blood; a revolutionist, he was 
free from any stain of treason; for aggression commenced 
the contest, and his country called him to the command. 

Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory 
returned it. If he had paused here, history might have 
doubted what station to assign him ; whether at the head 
of her citizens, or her soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. 
But the last glorious act crowns his career, and banishes 
all hesitation. Who, like Washington, after having eman- 
cipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and preferred 
the retirement of domestic life to the adoration of a land 
he might be almost said to have created! 

" How shall we rank thee upon Glory's page, 
Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage ; 
All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, 
Far less than all thou hast forborne to be \" 

Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be accused of 
partiality in his estimate of America. Happy, proud Ame- 
rica ! The lightnings of heaven yielded to your philoso- 
phy ! The temptations of earth could not seduce your pa- 
triotism ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 131 



LESSON XLIV. 
Defence of the Puritans. — T. B. Macaulay. 

The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a 
peculiar character from the daily contemplation of superior 
beings and external interests. Not content with acknow- 
ledging, in general terms, an overruling Providence, they 
habitually ascribed every event to the will of the Great 
Being, for whose power nothing was too vast, for whose 
inspection nothing was too minute. To know him, to 
serve him, to enjoy him, was with them the great end of 
existence. They rejected with contempt the ceremonious 
homage which other sects substituted for the pure worship 
of the soul. Instead of catching occasional glimpses of 
the Deity through an obscuring veil, they aspired to gaze 
full on the intolerable brightness, and to commune with 
him face to face. Hence originated their contempt for 
terrestrial distinctions. The difference between the great- 
est and meanest of mankind seemed to vanish, when com- 
pared with the boundless interval which separated the 
whole race from Him on whom their own eyes were con- 
stantly fixed. They recognised no title to superiority but 
his favour ; and, confident of that favour, they despised all 
the accomplishments and all the dignities of the world. 

If they were unacquainted with the works of philoso- 
phers and poets, they were deeply read in the oracles of 
God. If their names were not found in the registers of 
heralds, they felt assured they were recorded in the Book 
of Life. If their steps were not accompanied by a splen- 
did train of menials, legions of ministering angels had 
charge over them. Their palaces were houses not made 
with hands ; their diadems crowns of glory which should 
never fade away ! On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles 
and priests, they looked down with contempt ; for they 
esteemed themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and 
eloquent in a more sublime language ; nobles by the right 
of an earlier creation, and priests by the imposition of a 
mightier hand. 

The very meanest of them was a being to whose fate a 
mysterious and terrible importance belonged — on whose 



132 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

slightest actions the spirits of light and darkness looked 
with anxious interest — who had been destined, before 
heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity which 
should continue when heaven and earth have passed away. 
Events, which short-sighted politicians ascribed to earthly 
causes, had been ordained on his account. For his sake 
empires had risen, nourished, and decayed. For his sake 
the Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the 
Evangelist and the harp of the prophet. He had been res- 
cued by no common deliverer, from the grasp of no com- 
mon foe. He had been ransomed by the sweat of no vul- 
gar agony, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice. It was 
for him that the sun had been darkened, that the rocks 
had been rent, that the dead had arisen, that all nature 
had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring God ! 

Thus the Puritan was made uj3 of two different men : 
the one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, passion ; 
the other proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. He prostra- 
ted himself in the dust before his Maker ; but he set his 
foot on the neck of his king. In his devotional retirement, 
he prayed with convulsions, and groans, and tears. He 
was half-maddened by glorious or terrible delusions. He 
heard the lyres of angels, or the tempting whispers of 
fiends. He caught a gleam of the Beatific Vision, or woke 
screaming from dreams of everlasting fire. Like Vane, 
he thought himself intrusted with the sceptre of the mil- 
lennial world ; like Fleetwood, he cried in the bitterness 
of his soul that God had hid his face from him. 

But when he took his seat in the council, or girt on his 
sword for war, these tempestuous workings of the soul 
had left no perceptible trace behind them. People who 
saw nothing of the godly but their uncouth visages, and 
heard nothing from them but their groans and their 
whining hymns, might laugh at them. But those had lit- 
tle reason to laugh, who encountered them in the hall of 
debate or in the field of battle. These fanatics brought to 
civil and military affairs a coolness of judgment and an 
immutability of purpose, which some writers have thought 
inconsistent with their religious zeal, but which were in 
fact the necessary effects of it. The intensity of their 
feelings on one subject made them tranquil on every other. 
One overpowering sentiment had subjected to itself pity 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 133 

and hatred, ambition and fear. Death had lost its terrors 
and pleasure its charms. They had their smiles and their 
tears, their raptures and their sorrows, but not for the 
things of this world. 

Enthusiasm had made them stoics, had cleared their 
minds from every vulgar passion and prejudice, and raised 
them above the influence of danger and of corruption. 
It sometimes might lead them to pursue unwise ends, but 
never to choose unwise means. They went through the 
world like Sir Artegale's iron man,- Talus, with his flail, 
crushing and trampling down oppressors, mingling with 
human beings, but having neither part nor lot in human in- 
firmities ; insensible to fatigue, to pleasure, and to pain ; 
not to be pierced by any weapon, not to be withstood by 
any barrier. 

Such we believe to have been the character of the .Pu- 
ritans. We perceive the absurdity of their manners. We 
dislike the sullen gloom of their domestic habits. We ac- 
knowledge that the tone of their minds was often injured 
by straining after things too high for mortal reach. And 
we know that, in spite of their hatred of Popery, they too 
often fell into the worst vices of that bad system, intoler- 
ance and extravagant austerity — that they had their anchor- 
ites and their crusades, their Dunstans and their De Mont- 
forts, their Dominies and their Escobars. Yet, when all 
circumstances are taken into consideration, we do not hes- 
itate to pronounce them a brave, a wise, an honest, and a 
useful body. 



LESSON XLV. 

Glenara. — Campbell. 

Oh ! heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, 
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail 1 
'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear ; 
And her sire and her people are called to her bier. 

Glenara came first, with the mourners and shroud ; 
Her kinsmen they follow' d, but mourn' d not aloud ; 
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around ; 
They march'd all in silence — they look'd to the ground. 



134} THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

In silence they march'd over mountain and moor, 
To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar, 
" Now here let us place the gray-stone of her cairn — 
Why speak ye no word]" said Glenara the stem. 

" And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse, 
Why fold ye your mantles ? why cloud ye your brows V 
So spake the rude chieftain : no answer is made, 
But each mantle unfolding, a dagger display'd. 

" I dream'd of my lady, I dream'd of her shroud," 
Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud ; 
" And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem : 
Glenara ! Glenara ! now read me my dream !" 

Oh ! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, 
When the shroud was unclos'd, and no body was seen : 
Then a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn— 
'Twas the youth that had lov'd the fair Ellen of Lorn— 

" I dream'd of my lady, I dream'd of her grief, 
I dream'd that her lord was a barbarous chief; 
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem : 
Glenara ! Glenara ! now read me my dream !" 

In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, 
And the desert reveal' d where his lady was found ; 
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne : 
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn ! 



LESSON XLVL 

The Seen and the Unseen. — Ephraim Peabody. 

There is a spiritual element interfused through the 
whole material world, and which lies at the source of all 
action. It is this which lifts the world out of chaos, and 
clothes it with light and order. The most ordinary act 
springs out of the soul, and derives its character from the 
soul. It seems trifling, only because its spiritual origin 
is forgotten. While on the surface of life all may be calm, 
it is startling to think what mysteries of passion and affec- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 135 

tion may be beneath. Though heedless of it, we move in 
a universe of spiritual life. It is with us as with men that 
lie dreaming in their beds at sea, between whom and the 
ocean is but a single plank : cabined, cribbed, confined in 
our narrow, individual existence, there is all the time rush- 
ing by us, its moanings in our ears, its tremblings reach- 
ing to our hearts, the mystic tide of spiritual life. 

" The spirit giveth life." We need not go far, if we 
will but open our eyes, to see how the most ordinary acts 
of man are penetrated by a spiritual element. And where 
this is, nothing can be tame or common-place. Nothing, 
at first sight, is more worldly and unspiritual than a com- 
mercial newspaper. It deals solely with the affairs of the 
day, and with material interests. Yet when we come to 
consider them, its driest details are instinct with human 
hopes, and fears, and affections ; and these illuminate what 
was dark, and make the dead letter breathe with life. 

For example : — in the paper of to-day, a middle-aged 
man seeks employment in a certain kind of business. The 
advertisement has, in substance, been the same for weeks. 
For a time, he sought some place, which presupposed the 
possession of business habits and attainments. Then 
there was a change in the close of the advertisement, indi- 
cating that he would do any thing by which he could ren- 
der himself useful to an employer. And, this morning, 
there is another change : he is willing to commence with 
low wages, as employment is what he especially wants. 

All this is uninteresting enough ; yet what depths of 
life may lie underneath this icy surface of business detail ! 
It is easy for the fancy to seek out and make the acquaint- 
ance of this man. He is a foreigner, in poverty, with a 
family, brought to this country by the hopes which have 
brought so many hither, only that they might be over- 
whelmed with disappointment. He is a stranger, and 
finds all places of business full. Already his family is 
parting with every superfluous article of dress and furni- 
ture ; their food grows daily more scanty and meagre ; 
broken down in heart and hopes, he seeks, through all the 
avenues of business, some employment, and cannot find it. 
The decent pride, and the desire to enter that business fox 
which his previous habits had fitted him, have kept him 
up for a time ; but these are fast departing under the 



136 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

pressure of penury ; and this morning's advertisement 
means, that the day seems near at hand when his children 
may cry for bread, and he have none to give. Not al- 
ways, by any means, but how often might such advertise- 
ments tell tales like this ! 

Could we but look, through this long line of advertise- 
ments, into the hearts of those who have published them, 
what a revelation would there be of human life ! Here 
are partnerships formed and closed ; young men entering 
into business, old men going out of it ; new inventions and 
speculations ; failures, sales of household furniture, and 
dwellings. These have been attended by the most san- 
guine hopes, by utter hopelessness, by every form of fear, 
anxiety, and sorrow. This young man, just entering bu- 
siness, looks forward, with anticipations bright as the 
morning, to his marriage day. This sale of furniture 
speaks of death, diminished fortunes, a scattered family. 
There is not a sale of stocks, which does not straiten or 
increase the narrow means of widows and orphans. 

This long column of ship news- — a thousand hearts are 
at this moment beating with joy and thankfulness, or are 
oppressed by anxiety, or crushed down by sorrow, because 
of these records, which to others seem so meaningless ! — 
One reads here of his prosperity ; another of ruined for- 
tunes. And the wrecked ship, whose crew was swept by 
the surge into the breakers, and dashed on the rocks — 
how many in their solitary homes are mourning for those 
who sailed with bright hopes in that ship, but who shall 
never return ! 

And, more than this — could these lines which record the 
transactions of daily business, tell of the hearts which in- 
dited them, what temptations and struggles would they 
reveal ! They would tell of inexperience deceived or 
protected; of integrity fallen, or made stedfast as the 
rock ; of moral trials, in which noble natures have been 
broken down or built up. Had we the key and the in- 
terpretation of what we here read, this daily chronicle of 
traffic would be a sadder tragedy than any which Shaks- 
peare wrote. 



PIECES FOB. READING AND DECLABIATION. 137 

LESSON XLVII. 

The Seventh Plague of Egypt. The Tempest — Anon. 

'Twas morn — the rising splendour roll'd 
On marble towers and roofs of gold; 
Hall, court, and gallery below, 
Were crowded with a living flow ; 
Egyptian, Arab, Nubian there, 
The bearers of the bow and spear ; 
The hoary priest, the Chaldee sage, 
The slave, the gemm'd and glittering page — - 
Helm, turban, and tiara, shone 
A dazzling ring round Pharaoh's throne. 

There came a man — the human tide 
Shrank backward from his stately stride : 
His cheek w T ith storm and time was tann'd ; 
A shepherd's staff was in his hand ; 
A shudder of instinctive fear 
Told the dark king what step was near ; 
On through the host the stranger came, 
It parted round his form like flame. 

He stoop 'd not at the footstool stone, 
He clasp'd not sandal, kissed not throne; 
Erect he stood amid the ring, 
His only w r ords — " Be just, O king!" 
On Pharaoh's cheek the blood flush'd high, 
A fire was in his sullen eye ; 
Yet on the Chief of Israel 
No arrow of his thousands fell : 
All mute and moveless as the grave 
Stood chill' d the satrap and the slave. 

"Thou'rt come," at length the monarch spoke ; 
Haughty and high the words outbroke : 
" Is Israel weary of its lair, 
The forehead peel'd, the shoulder bare ? 
Take back the answer to your band ; 
Go, reap the wind; go, plough the sand; 



138 THE ELOCUTIONIST* 

Go, vilest of the living vile, 
To build the never ending pile, 
Till, darkest of the nameless dead, 
The vulture on their flesh is fed. 
What better asks the howling slave 
Than the base life our bounty gave!" 

Shouted in pride the turban' d peers, 
Upclashed to heaven the golden spears. 
"King! thou and thine are doom'd! — Behold!" 
The prophet spoke — the thunder roll'd ! 
Along the pathway of the sun 
SaiPd vapoury mountains, wild and dun. 
"Yet there is time," the prophet said — 
He raised his staff — the storm was stay 'd : 
" King ! be the word of freedom given : 
What art thou, man, to war with Heaven V 9 

There came no word. — The thunder broke ! 
Like a huge city's final smoke, 
Thick, lurid, stifling, mix'd with flame, 
Through court and hall the vapours came. 
Loose as the stubble in the field, 
Wide flew the men of spear and shield; 
Scattered like foam along the wave, 
Flew the proud pageant, prince and slave : 
Or, in the chains of terror bound, 
Lay, corpse-like, on the smouldering ground. 
"Speak, king! — the wrath is but begun — 
Still dumb! — then, Heaven, thy will be done!" 

Echoed from earth a hollow roar, 
Like ocean on the midnight shore ; 
A sheet of lightning o'er them wheel'd, 
The solid ground beneath them reel'd; 
In dust sank roof and battlement ; 
Like webs the giant walls were rent; 
Red, broad, before his startled gaze, 
The monarch saw his Egypt blaze. 
Still swelled the plague — the flame grew pale; 
Burst from the clouds the charge of hail; 
With arrowy keenness, iron weight, 
Down pour'd the ministers of fate ; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 139 

Till man and cattle, crush'd, congeal'd, 
Covered with death the boundless field. 

Still swell' d the plague — uprose the blast, 
The avenger, fit to be the last; 
On ocean, river, forest, vale, 
Thunder' d at once the mighty gale. 
Before the whirlwind flew the tree, 
Beneath the whirlwind roar'd the sea ; 
A thousand ships were on the wave — 
Where are they ] — ask that foaming grave ! 
Down go the hope, the pride of years, 
Down go the myriad mariners ; 
The riches of Earth's richest zone, 
Gone ! like a flash of lightning, gone ! 

And, lo ! that first fierce triumph o'er, 
Swells Ocean on the shrinking shore ; 
Still onward, onward, dark and wide, 
Engulfs the land the furious tide. 
Then bow'd thy spirit, stubborn king, 
Thou serpent, reft of fang and sting; 
Humbled before the prophet's knee, 
He groan'd, "Be injured Israel free." 

To heaven the sage upraised his wand; 
Back rolled the deluge from the land ; 
Back to its caverns sank the gale; 
Fled from the noon the vapours pale; 
Broad burn'd again the joyous sun : 
The hour of wrath and death was done. 



LESSON XLVIIL 

Danger of Prematurely Tasking the Mental Powers of the 
Young. — A. Brigham. 

Much of the thoughtlessness of parents, regarding the 
ajury they may do their children by too early cultivating 
aeir minds, has arisen from the mystery in which the 
dence of mind has been involved, and ignorance of the 



140 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

connection between the mind and body ; for we find them 
exceedingly anxious and careful about the health of their 
children in other respects. Entirely forgetful of the brain, 
they know there is danger in exercising many other parts 
of the body too much, when they are but partially devel- 
oped. They know that caution is necessary with children 
in respect to their food, lest their delicate digestive organs 
should be injured by a too exciting and stimulating re- 
gimen. 

A parent would be greatly alarmed if his little child, by 
continued encouragement and training, had learned to eat 
as much food as a healthy adult. Such a prodigy <pf glut- 
tony might undoubtedly be formed. The method of ef- 
fecting it, would be somewhat like that of enabling a child 
to remember, and reason, and study, with the ability and 
constancy of an adult. Each method is dangerous, but 
probably the latter is the more so, because the brain is a 
more delicate organ than the stomach. 

The activity of most of the organs of the body can be 
very greatly increased ; they can be made to perform their 
functions for a while with unusual facility and power. I 
will dwell upon this fact a little. A child, for instance, 
may be gradually accustomed to eat and digest large quan- 
tities of stimulating animal food. I have seen an instance 
of this kind, and when I remonstrated with the parents on 
the impropriety and danger of allowing a child but two 
years old, such diet constantly, I was told that he was un- 
commonly robust ; and indeed he appeared to be in vigour- 
ous health ; but soon after this he had along inflammatory 
fever, of an unusual character for children, which I at- 
tributed at the time, to the stimulating diet allowed him. 
This diet appeared also to have an effect upon his disposi- 
tion, and confirmed the observation of Hufeland, that " in- 
fants who are accustomed to eat much animal food become 
robust, but at the same time passionate, violent and brutal." 

A child may also be made to execute surprising muscu- 
lar movements, such as walking on a rope, and other feats ; 
but these are learned only by long practice, which greatly 
developes the muscles by which the movements are execu- 
ted. From frequent and powerful action, the muscles of 
the arms of blacksmiths and boxers and boatmen, those of 
the lower limbs of dancers, and those of the faces of buf- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 141 

foons, become strikingly enlarged when compared with the 
muscles in other parts of the body. Every employment 
in which men engage brings into relatively greater action 
particular parts of the system ; some organs are constantly 
and actively exercised, while others are condemned to in- 
activity. To make, therefore, one organ superior to an- 
other in power, it is necessary not only to exercise it fre- 
quently, but to render other organs inactive, so as not to 
draw away from it that vital energy which it requires in or- 
der to be made perfect. 

The important truth resulting from these facts, that the 
more any part of the human system is exercised, the more it is 
enlarged, and its powers increased, applies equally to all or- 
gans of the body ; it applies to the brain as well as the 
muscles. The heads of great thinkers, as has been stated, 
are wonderfully large ; and it has been ascertained by ad- 
measurement, that they frequently continue to increase un- 
til the subjects are fifty years of age, and long after the 
other- portions of the system have ceased to enlarge. 
" This phenomenon," says Itard, " is not very rare, even 
in the adult, especially among men given to study, or pro- 
found meditation, or who devote themselves, without re- 
laxation, to the agitations of an unquiet and enterprising 
spirit. The head of Bonaparte, for instance, was small in 
youth, but acquired, in after life, a development nearly 
enormous." 

I would have the parent, therefore, understand, that his 
child may be made to excel in almost anything; that by 
increasing the power of certain organs through exercise, 
he can be made a prodigy of early mental or muscular 
activity. But I would have him, at the same time, under- 
stand the conditions upon which this can be effected, and 
its consequences. I would have him fully aware, that in 
each case, unusual activity and power are produced by ex- 
traordinary development of an organ ; and especially that 
in early life, no one organ of the body can be dispropor- 
tionately exercised, without the risk of most injurious con- 
sequences. Either the over-excited and over-tasked organ 
itself will be injured for life, or the development of other 
and essential parts of the system will be arrested forever. 

From what has been said hitherto, we gather the follow- 
ing facts, which should be made the basis of all instruc- 



142 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

tion ; facts which I wish often to repeat. The brain is the 
material organ by which all the mental faculties are mani- 
fested ; it is exceedingly delicate, and but partially developed 
in childhood ; over-excitement of it when in this state, is ex- 
tremely hazardous. 



LESSON XLIX. 
Early History of Kentucky. — N. A. Review. 

Those now alive, who have reached the age of seventy 
years, were born before the first white man entered Ken- 
tucky. For the English have never displayed the same 
love of discovery as the Spaniards and French, either in 
North or South America. Wherever they have fixed them- 
selves, they remain. A love of adventure, an eager curi- 
osity, a desire of change, or some like motive, had earned 
the French all over the continent, while the English colon- 
ists continued quietly within their own limits. The French 
missionaries coasted along the lakes and descended the 
Mississippi, a whole century before the Virginians began to 
cross the Alleghany ridge, to get a glimpse of the noble in- 
heritance, which had remained undisturbed for centuries, 
waiting their coming. 

It was not till the year 1767, only eight years before the 
breaking out of the revolutionary war, that John Finley, 
of North Carolina, descended into Kentucky for the pur- 
pose of hunting and trading. The feelings of wonder and 
delight experienced by this early pioneer in passing through 
the rich lands, which were filled with deer, buffaloes, and 
every kind of game, and covered with the majestic growth 
of centuries, soon communicated themselves to others. 
Like the spies, who returned from Palestine, they declar- 
ed, " The land, which we passed through to search it, is 
an exceeding good land." They compared it to parks.and 
gardens, or a succession of farms stocked with cattle, and' 
full of birds tame as farm-yard poultry. 

Instigated by these descriptions, in 1769, Daniel Boone, 
a man much distinguished for bravery and skill, entered 
Kentucky. And now commenced a series of enterprise, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 143 

romantic adventure, chivalric daring, and patient endur- 
ance, not surpassed in the history of modern times. Nothing 
in those voluminous tales of knight errantry, which occu- 
pied the leisure of pages and squires in old baronial days, 
or in the Waverley novels and their train of romances of the 
second class, which amuse modern gentlemen and ladies, — 
nothing in these works of imagination can exceed the real- 
ities of early Kentucky history. 

From 1769 till Wayne's victory on the Maumee in 1794, 
a period of twenty-five years, including the whole revolu- 
tionary war, the people of Kentucky were engaged in In- 
dian warfare, 4 for life and home. Surrounded by an enemy 
far outnumbering them; deadly in hatred, of ferocious 
cruelty, wielding the same rifle with themselves, and as 
skilful in its use, they took possession of the country, felled 
the forest, built towns, laid out roads, and changed the wil- 
derness into a garden. No man could open his cabin-door 
in the morning, without danger of receiving a rifle-bullet 
from a lurking Indian ; no woman could go out to milk the 
cows, without risk of having a scalping-knife at her fore- 
head before she returned. Many a man returned from 
hunting, only to find a smoking ruin where he had left a 
happy home with wife and children. 

But did this constant danger create a constant anxiety 1 
Did they live in terror % Fightings were without ; were 
fears within ] By no means. If you talk with the survi- 
vors of those days they will tell you : " We soon came to 
think ourselves as good men as the Indians. We believed 
we were as strong as they, as good marksmen, as quick of 
sight, and as likely to see them, as they were to see us ; 
so there was no use in being afraid of them." The danger 
produced a constant watchfulness, an active intelligence, a 
prompt decision ; traits still strongly apparent in the Ken- 
tucky character. 

By the same causes, other, more amiable and social qua- 
lities, were developed. While every man was forced to de- 
pend on himself and trust to his own courage, coolness and 
skill, every man felt that he depended on his neighbour for 
help in cases where his own powers could no longer avail 
him. And no man could decline making an effort for an- 
other, when he knew that he might need a like aid before 
the sun went down. Hence we have frequent examples of 



144 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

one man risking his life to save that of another, and of des- 
perate exertions made for the common safety of the dwell- 
ers in fort or stockade. 

Can we, then, wonder at the strong family attachments 
still existing in Kentucky ] The remembrance of hours of 
common danger and mutual sacrifice, and generous disre- 
gard of self, must have sunk deep into the hearts of those 
earnest men, the early settlers. " He saved my life at the 
risk of his own. He helped me bring back my wife from 
the Indians. He shot the man who was about to dash out 
my infant's brains.' ' Here was a foundation for friend- 
ships, which nothing could root up. " Whispering tongues 
can poison truth;" but no tongues could do away such 
evidences of true friendship as these. No subsequent cold- 
ness, no after injury, could efface their remembrance. They 
must have been treasured up in the deepest cells of the 
heart with a sacred gratitude, a religious care. And hence, 
while Indian warfare developed all the stronger and self- 
relying faculties, it cultivated also all the sympathies, the 
confiding trust, the generous affections, which, to the pre- 
sent hour, are marked on the heart of that people's cha- 
racter. 



LESSON L. 
The Fall of Napoleon. — C. Phillips. 

I have heard before of states ruined by the visitation of 
Providence, devastated by famine, wasted by fire, over- 
come by enemies ; but never until now did I see a state 
like England, impoverished by her spoils, and conquered 
by her successes ! She has fought the fight of Europe ; 
she has purchased all its coinable blood ; she has subsidized 
all its dependencies in their own cause ; she has conquer- 
ed by sea, she has conquered by land ; and here she is, af- 
ter all her vanity and all her victories, surrounded by de- 
solation, like one of the pyramids of Egypt; amid the gran- 
deur of the desert, full of magnificence and death, at once 
a trophy and a tomb ! 

The heart of any reflecting man must bum within him, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 145 

when he thinks that the war, thus sanguinary in its opera- 
tions, confessedly ruinous in its expenditure, was even still 
more odious in its'principle ! It was a war avowedly un- 
dertaken for the purpose of forcing France out of her un- 
doubted right of choosing her own monarch ; a war, which 
uprooted the very foundations of the English constitution ; 
which libelled the most glorious era in our national annals ; 
which declared tyranny eternal, and announced to the peo- 
ple, amid the thunder of artillery, that, no matter how 
aggrieved, their only allowable attitude was that of suppli- 
cation ; which, when it told the French reformer of 1793, 
that his defeat was just, told the British reformer of 1688, 
his triumph was treason ! 

What else have you done ] You have succeeded in de- 
throning Napoleon ; and you have dethroned a monarch, 
who, with all his imputed crimes and vices, shed a splen- 
dour around royalty too powerful for the feeble vision of 
legitimacy even to bear. He had many faults : I do not 
seek to palliate therm He deserted his principles : I re- 
joice that he has suffered. But still let us be generous even 
in our enmities. How grand was his march ! How mag- 
nificent his destiny ! Say what we will, Sir, he will be the 
land-mark of our times in the eyes of posterity. The goal 
of other men's speed was his starting-post. Crowns were 
his playthings ; thrones his footstool. He strode from vic- 
tory to victory. His path was " a plane of continued ele- 
vations.' ' Surpassing the boast of the too confident Ro- 
man, he but stamped upon the earth, and, not only armed 
men, but states and dynasties, and arts and sciences, — all 
that mind could imagine, or industry produce — started up, 
the creation of enchantment. 

He has fallen. As the late Mr. Whitbread said — " You 
made him, and he unmade himself" — his own ambition was 
his glorious conqueror. He attempted, with a sublime au- 
dacity, to grasp the fires of Heaven, and his heathen retri- 
bution has been the vulture and the rock ! 



146 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

LESSON LI. 
God is Every Where. — Huoii Hutton. 

Oh ! show me where is He, 

The high and holy One, 
To whom thou bend'st the knee, 

Antl pray'st, " Thy will be done?" 
I hear thy .voice of praise, 

And lo! no form is near; 
Thine eyes I see thee raise, 

But where doth God appear % 
Oh ! teach me who is God, and where his glories shine, 
That I may kneel and pray, and call thy Father mine. 

Gaze on that arch above — 

The glittering vault admire !. 
Who taught those orbs to move % 

Who lit their ceaseless fire ? 
Who guides the moon to run 

In silence through the skies ? 
Who bids that dawning sun 
In strength and beauty rise 1 
There view immensity ! — behold, my God is there — 
The sun, the moon, the stars, his majesty declare! 

See, where the mountains rise ; 

Where thundering torrents foam ; 
Where, veiPd in lowering skies, 

The eagle makes his home ! 
Where savage nature dwells 

My God is present too — 
Through all her wildest dells 

His footsteps I pursue. 
He rear'd those giant cliffs — supplies that dashing stream- 
Provides the daily food, which stills the wild bird's scream. 

Look on that world of waves, 

Where finny nations glide ; 
Within whose deep, dark caves, 

The ocean-monsters hide ! 
His power is sovereign there, 

To raise— to quell the storm ; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLABIATION. 147 

The depths his bounty share, 
Where sport the scaly swarm : 
Tempests and calms obey the same almighty voice, 
Which rules the earth and skies, and bids the world rejoice. 

Nor eye nor thought can soar 

Where moves not he in might ; — 
He swells the thunder's roar, 

He spreads the wings of night. 
Oh ! praise the works divine ! 

Bow down thy soul in prayer ! 
Nor ask for other sign, 

That God is every where — 
The viewless Spirit he — immortal, holy, bless'd— 
Oh ! worship him in faith, and find eternal rest ! 



LESSON LIL 
The Destruction of Sennacherib. — Byron. 

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen ; 
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, 
That host., on the morrow, lay wither'd and strown. 

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 
And breathed on the face of the foe, as hepass'd; 
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still. 

And there lay the steed, with his nostiil all wide, 
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride; 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 
e2 



X*b THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; 
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail ; 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, 
Hath melted, like snow, in the glance of the Lord. 



LESSON LIIL 

Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouny, — Cole- 
ridge. 

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star 
In his steep course % — so long he seems to pause 
On thy bald, awful front, O sovereign Blanc ! 
The Arve and Arveiron, at thy base 
Rave ceaselessly.; but thou, most awful form, 
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, 
How silently ! Around thee and above, 
Deep is the air, and dark ; substantial black, 
An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, 
As with a wedge ! But, when I look again, 
It is thine own calm home, thy chrystal shrine, 
Thy habitation from eternity. 

dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, 
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, 

Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer, 

1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet, beguiling melody, 
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, 
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought — 
Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy, — 
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, 
Into the mighty vision passing — there, 
As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 149 

Awake, my soul ! Not only passive praise 
Thou owest ; not alone these swelling tears, 
Mute thanks, and silent ecstasy. Awake, 
Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake ! 
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. 

Thou, first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale ! 
Oh ! struggling with the darkness all the night, 
And visited all night by troops of stars, 
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink, — 
Companion of the morning star at dawn, 
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
Co-herald, wake ! O wake ! and utter praise ! 
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ] 
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ? 
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 

And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad ! 
Who called you forth from night and utter death, 
From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 
Forever shattered, and the same forever ] 
Who gave you your invulnerable life, 
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam 1 
And who commanded — and the silence came — 
" Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest ]" 

Ye ice-falls ! ye, that, from the mountain's brow, 
Adown enormous ravines slope amain — 
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, 
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! 
Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! 
Who made you glorious, as the gates of heaven 
Beneath the keen full moon ] Who bade the sun 
Clothe you with rainbows ] Who, with living flowers 
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ] — 
" God !" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
Answer ; and let the ice-plains echo. " God !" 
" God !" sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice ! 
Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! 
And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, 
And, in their perilous fall, shall thunder " God !" 
e3 



150 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Ye Hying flowers, that skirt the eternal frost ! 
Ye wild goats, sporting round the eagle's nest ! 
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! 
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! 
Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 
Utter forth " God !" and fill the hills with praise! 

Thou, too, hoar mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks, 
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, 
Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast — 
Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain ! thou 
That, — as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy base 
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, — 
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, 
To rise before me, — rise, O ever rise ! 
Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth. 
Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, 
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, 
Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky, 
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, 
" Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 



LESSON LIV. 
Byron and his Poetry. — T. B. Macaulay. 

Never had any writer so vast a command of the whole 
eloquence of scorn, misanthropy, and despair. That Ma- 
rah was never dry. No art could sweeten, no draughts 
could exhaust, its perennial waters of bitterness. Never 
was there such variety in monotony as that of Byron. From 
maniac laughter to piercing lamentation, there was not a 
single note of human anguish of which he was not master. 
Year after year, and month after month, he continued to 
repeat, that to be wretched is the destiny of all; that to be 
eminently wretched is the destiny of the eminent; that all 
the desires by which we are cursed lead alike to misery ; 
if they are not gratified, to the misery of disappointment; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 151 

if they are gratified, to the misery of satiety. His princi- 
pal heroes are men who have arrived by different roads at 
the same goal of despair, who are sick of life, who are at 
war with society, who are supported in their anguish only 
by an unconquerable pride, resembling that of Prometheus 
on the rock, or of Satan in the burning marl; who can mas- 
ter their agonies by the force of their will, and who, to the 
last, defy the whole power of earth and heaven. He al- 
ways described himself as a man of the same kind with his 
favourite creations, as a man whose heart had been with- 
ered, whose capacity for happiness was gone, and could 
not be restored; but whose invincible spirit dared the 
worst that could befall him here or hereafter. 

How much of this morbid feeling, sprang from an origin- 
al disease of mind, how much from real misfortune, how 
much from the nervousness of dissipation, how much of it 
was fanciful, how much of it was merely affected, it is im- 
possible for us, and would probably have been impossible 
for the most intimate friends of Lord Byron, to decide. 
Whether there ever existed, or can ever exist, a person 
answering to the description which he gave of himself, 
may be doubted : but that he was not such a person, is be- 
yond all doubt. It is ridiculous to imagine that a man, 
whose mind was really imbued with scorn of his fellow- 
creatures, would have published three or four books every 
year to tell them so ; or that a man, who could say with 
truth that he neither sought sympathy nor needed it, would 
have admitted all Europe to hear his farewell to his wife, 
and his blessings on his child. In the second canto of 
Childe Harold, he tells us that he is insensible to fame and 
obloquy : 

"111 may such contest now the spirit move, 
Which heeds nor keen reproof nor partial praise." 

Yet we know, on the best evidence, that a day or two be- 
fore he published these lines, he was greatly, indeed child- 
ishly, elated, by the compliments paid to his maiden speech 
in the House of Lords. 

We are far, however, from thinking that his sadness was 
altogether feigned. He was naturally a man of great sen- 
sibility ; he had been ill-educated ; his feelings had been 
early exposed to sharp trials ; he had been crossed in his 
e4 



152 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

boyish love; he had been mortified by the failure of his 
first literary efforts ; he was straitened in pecuniary cir- 
cumstances ; he was unfortunate in his domestic relations ; 
the public treated him with cruel injustice ; his health and 
spirits suffered from his dissipated habits of life ; he was, 
on the whole, an unhappy man. He early discovered that, 
by parading his unhappiness before the multitude, he exci- 
ted an unrivalled interest. The world gave him every en- 
couragement to talk about his mental sufferings. The ef- 
fect which his first confessions produced, induced him to 
affect much that he did not feel ; and the affectation pro- 
bably reacted on his feelings. How far the character in 
which he exhibited himself was genuine, and how far the- 
atrical, would probably have puzzled himself to say. 

What our grandchildren may think of the character of 
Lord Byron, as exhibited in his poetry, we will not pre- 
tend to guess. It is certain, that the interest which he ex- 
cited during his life, is without a parallel in literary histo- 
ry. The feeling with which young readers of poetry re- 
garded him, can be conceived only by those who have ex- 
perienced it. To people who are unacquainted with 
real calamity, " nothing is so dainty sweet as lovely me- 
lancholy. " This faint image of sorrow has in all ages been 
considered by young gentlemen as an agreeable excite- 
ment. Old gentlemen and middle-aged gentlemen have so - 
many real causes of sadness, that they are rarely inclined 
" to be as sad as night, only for wantonness." Indeed, they 
want the power almost as much as the inclination. We 
know very few persons engaged in active life, who, even 
if they were to procure stools to be melancholy upon, and 
were to sit down with all the premeditation of Master Ste- 
phen, would be able to enjoy much of what somebody calls 
the " ecstasy of wo." 

Among the large class of young persons whose reading 
is almost entirely confined to works of imagination, the pop- 
ularity of Lord Byron was unbounded. They bought pic- 
tures of him, they treasured up the smallest relics of him ; 
they learned his poems by heart, and. did their best to 
write like him, and to look like him. Many of them prac- 
tised at the glass, in the hope of catching the curl of the up- 
per lip, and the scowl of the brow, which appear in some of 
his portraits. A few discarded their neckcloths in imita- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 153 

tion of their great leader. For some years, the Minerva 
press sent forth no novel without a mysterious, unhappy, 
Lara-like peer. The number of hopeful undergraduates 
and medical students who became things of dark imagin- 
ings, on whom the freshness of the heart ceased to fall like 
dew, whose passions had consumed themselves to dust, and 
to whom the relief of tears was denied, passes all calcula- 
tion. This was not the worst. There was created in the 
minds of many of these enthusiasts, a pernicious and absurd 
association between intellectual power and moral depravi- 
ty. From the poetry of Lord Byron they drew a system 
of ethics, compounded of misanthropy and voluptuousness. 
This affectation has passed away ; and a few more years 
will destroy whatever yet remains of that magical potency 
which once belonged to the name of Byron. To us he is 
still a man, young, noble, and unhappy. To our children 
he will be merely a writer; and their impartial judgment 
will appoint his place among writers, without regard to his 
rank or to his private history. That his poetry will un- 
dergo a severe sifting ; that much of what has been admir- 
ed by his contemporaries will be rejected as worthless, we 
have little doubt. But we have as little doubt, that, after 
the closest scrutiny, there will still remain much that can 
only perish with the English language. 



LESSON LV. 
Origin of the French Revolution. — Channing. 

Communities fall by the vices of the great, not the small. 
The French Revolution is perpetually sounded in our ears, 
as a warning against the lawlessness of the people. But 
whence came this revolution ? Who were the regicides 1 
Who beheaded Louis XVI. ] You tell me the Jacobins ; 
but history tells a different tale. I will show you the be- 
headers of Louis XVI. They were Louis XIV., and the 
Regent who followed him, and Louis XV. These brought 
their descendant to the guillotine. 

The priesthood, who invoked the edict of Nantz, and 
drove from France the skill and industry, and virtue andpi- 
e5 



154 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

ety, which were the sinews of her strength ; the statesmen 
who intoxicated Louis XIV. with the scheme of universal 
empire ; the profligate, prodigal, shameless Orleans ; and 
the still more brutalized Louis the XV., with his court of 
panders and prostitutes ; these made the nation bankrupt, 
broke asunder the bond of loyalty, and overwhelmed the 
throne and altar in ruins. We hear of the horrors of the 
Revolution ; but in this as in other things, we recollect the 
effect without thinking of the guiltier cause. 

The revolution was indeed a scene of horror ; but when 
I look back on the reigns which preceded it, and which 
made Paris almost one great stew and gaming house, and 
when I see altar and throne desecrated by a licentiousness 
unsurpassed in any former age, I look on scenes as shock- 
ing to the calm and searching eye of reason and virtue, as 
the tenth of August and the massacres of September. 
Bloodshed is indeed a terrible spectacle ; but there are 
other things almost as fearful as blood. There are crimes 
that do not make us start and turn pale like the guillotine, 
but are deadlier in their workings. 

God forbid, that I should say a word to weaken the thrill 
of horror, with which we contemplate the outrages of the 
French Revolution. But when I hear that revolution 
quoted to frighten us from reform, to show us the danger 
of lifting up the depressed and ignorant mass, I must ask 
whence it came ? and the answer is, that it came from the 
intolerable weight of misgovernment and tyranny, from 
the utter want of culture among the mass of the people, 
and from a corruption of the great, too deep to be purged 
away except by destruction. 

I am almost compelled to remember, that the people, in 
this their singular madness, wrought far less woe than 
kings and priests have wrought, as a familiar thing, in all 
ages of the world. All the murders of the French Revo- 
lution did not amount, I think, by one -fifth, to those of the 
" Massacre of St. Bartholomew." The priesthood and the 
throne, in one short night and day, shed more blood, and 
that the best blood of France, than was spilled by Jacob- 
inism and all other forms of violence during the whole re- 
volution. Even the atheism and infidelity of France were 
due chiefly to a licentious priesthood and a licentious court. 
It was religion, so called, that dug her own grave. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 155 

In offering this plea for the multitude, I have no desire 
to transfer to the multitude uncontrolled political power. 
I look at power in all hands with jealousy. I wish neither 
rich nor poor to be my masters. What I wish is, the im- 
provement, the elevation of all classes, and especially of 
the most numerous class, because the most numerous, be- 
cause the many are mankind, and because no social pro- 
gress can be hoped but from influences which penetrate 
and raise the mass of men. The mass must not be confin- 
ed and kept down through a vague dread of revolutions. 
A social order requiring such a sacrifice, would be too 
dearly bought. No order should satisfy us, but that which 
is in harmony with universal improvement and freedom. 



LESSON LVL 

The Might with the Right. — Anonymous. 

May every year but draw more near 

The time when strife shall cease, 
And truth and love all hearts shall move 

To live in joy and peace. 
Now sorrow reigns, and earth complains, 

For folly still her power maintains ; 
But the day shall yet appear 
When the might with the right and the truth shall be ; 
And come what there may, to stand in the way, 
That day the world shall see. 

Let good men ne'er of truth despair, 

Though humble efforts fail ; 
We'll give not o'er, until once more 

The righteous cause prevail. 
In vain and long, enduring wrong, 

The weak may strive against the strong; 
But the day shall yet appear, 
When the might with the right and the truth shall be 5 
And come what there may, to stand in the way, 
That day the world shall see. 
e6 



156 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Though interest pleads that noble deeds 

The world will not regard, — 
To noble minds, whom duty binds, 

No sacrifice is hard. 
The brave and true may seem but few, 
But hope keeps better things in view ; 
And the day shall yet appear 
When the might with the right and the truth shall be 
And come what there may, to stand in the way, 
That day the world shall see. 



LESSON LVII. 

Art.-— Charles Sprague. 

WheNj from the sacred garden driven, 

Man fled before his Maker's wrath, 
An angel left her place in heaven, 

And cross'd the wanderer's sunless path. 
*Twas Art ! sweet Art ! new radiance broke 

Where her light foot flew o'er the ground, 
And thus with seraph voice she spoke : 

" The curse a blessing shall be found." 

She led him through the trackless wild, 

Where noontide sunbeam never blazed * f 
The thistle shrank, the harvest smiled, 

And Nature gladden' d as she gazed. 
Earth's thousand tribes of living things, 

At Art's command to him are given ; 
The village grows, the city springs, 

And point their spires of faith to heaven. 

He rends the oak — and bids it ride, 

To guard the shores its beauty graced ; 
He smites the rock — upheaved in pride, 

See towers of strength and domes of taste ! 
Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal, 

Fire bears his banner on the wave, 
He bids the mortal poison heal, 

And leaps triumphant o'er the grave. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 157 

He plucks the pearls that stud the deep, 

Admiring beauty's lap to fill ; 
He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep, 

And mocks his own Creator's skill. 
With thoughts that fill his glowing soul, 

He bids the ore illume the page, 
And, proudly scorning Time's control, 

Commerces with an unborn age. 

In fields of air he writes his name? 

And treads the chambers of the sky, 
He reads the stars, and grasps the flame 

That quivers round the throne on high. 
In war renown'd, in peace sublime, 

He moves in greatness and in grace ; 
His power, subduing space and time, 

Links realm to realm, and race to race. 



LESSON LVIII. 

Old Ironsides* — O. W. Holmes. 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! 

Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky ; 
Beneath it rang the battle-shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar; 
The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more ! 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 

Where knelt the vanquish' d foe, 
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, 

And waves were white below, 
No more shall feel the victor's tread, 

Or know the conquer'd knee; 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 

The eagle of the sea ! 



* Written when it was proposed to break up the frigate Constitution, 
or to convert her into a receiving ship, as unfit for service. 



158 THE ELOCUTIONIST* 

Oh, better that her shatter'd hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave ! 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 

And there should be her grave! 
Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the god of storms, — 

The lightning and the gale ! 



LESSON LIX. 

Our Obligations as American Citizens. — D. Webster. 

Let us indulge an honest exultation in the conviction 
of the benefit, which the example of our country has pro- 
duced, and is likely to produce, on human freedom and 
human happiness. And let us endeavour to comprehend, 
in all its magnitude, and to feel, in all its importance, the 
part assigned to us in the great drama of human affairs. 
We are placed at the head of the system of representa- 
tive and popular governments. Thus far our example 
shows, that such governments are compatible, not only with 
respectability and power, but with repose, with peace, 
with security of personal rights, with good laws, and a just 
administration* 

We are not propagandists. Wherever other systems 
are preferred, either as being thought better in themselves, 
or as better suited to existing condition, we leave the pre- 
ference to be enjoyed. Our history hitherto proves, how- 
ever, that the popular form is practicable, and that with 
wisdom and knowledge men may govern themselves ; and 
the duty incumbent on us is, to preserve the consistency of 
this cheering example, and take care that nothing may 
weaken its authority with the world. If, in our case, the 
Representative system ultimately fail, popular governments 
must be pronounced impossible. No combination of cir- 
cumstances more favourable to the experiment, can ever be 
expected to occur. The last hopes of mankind, therefore, 
rest with us ; and if it should be proclaimed, that our ex- 
ample had become an argument against the experiment, 
the knell of popular liberty would be sounded throughout 
the earth. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 159 

These are excitements to duty ; but they are not sug- 
gestions of doubt. Our history and our condition, all that 
is gone before us, and all that surrounds us, authorise the 
belief, that popular governments, though subject to occa- 
sional variations, perhaps not always for the better, inform, 
may yet, in their general character, be as durable and per- 
manent as other systems. We know, indeed, that, in our 
country, any other is impossible. The principle of Free 
Governments adheres to the American soil. It is bedded 
in it ; immovable as its mountains. 

And let the sacred obligations which have devolved on 
this generation, and on us, sink deep into our hearts. 
Those are daily dropping from among us, who established 
our liberty and our government. The great trust now de- 
scends to new hands. Let us apply ourselves to that 
which is presented to us, as our appropriate object. We 
can win no laurels in a war for Independence. Earlier 
and worthier hands have gathered them all. Nor are there 
places for us by the side of Solon, and Alfred, and other 
founders of states. Our fathers have filled them. But 
there remains to us a great duty of defence and preserva- 
tion ; and there is opened to us, also, a noble pursuit, to 
which the spirit of the times strongly invites us. 

Our proper business is improvement. Let our age be 
the age of improvement. In a day of peace, let us ad- 
vance the arts of peace and the works of peace. Let us 
develope the resources of our land, call forth its powers, 
build up its institutions, promote all its great interests, and 
see whether we also, in our day and generation, may not 
perform something worthy to be remembered. Let us cul- 
tivate a true spirit of union and harmony. In pursuing the 
great objects, which our condition points out to us, let us 
act under a settled conviction, and an habitual feeling, that 
these twenty-four states are one country. Let our concep- 
tions be enlarged to the circle of our duties. Let us ex- 
tend our ideas over the whole of the vast field in which 
we are called to act. Let our object be, our country, 

OUR WHOLE COUNTRY, AND NOTHING BUT OUR COUNTRY. 

And, by the blessing of G-od, may that country itself be- 
come a vast and splendid Monument, not of oppression 
and terror, but of Wisdom, of Peace, and of Liberty, 
upon which the world may gaze, with admiration, forever ! 



160 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 



LESSON LX. 



In Favour of Permitting the Return of tlie British Refu- 
gees. — Patrick Henry. 

Cast your eyes, Sir, over this extensive country — ob- 
serve the salubrity of your climate, the variety and ferti- 
lity of your soil— and see that soil intersected in every 
quarter by bold, navigable streams, flowing to the east and 
to the west, as if the finger of Heaven were marking out 
the course of your settlements, inviting you to enterprise, 
and pointing the way to wealth. Sir, you are destined, at 
some time or other, to become a great agricultural and 
commercial people ; the only question is, whether you 
choose to reach this point by slow gradations, and at some 
distant period — lingering on through a long and sickly 
minority, subjected, meanwhile, to the machinations, in- 
sults, and oppressions of enemies, foreign and domestic, 
without sufficient strength to resist and chastise them — or 
whether you choose rather to rush at once, as it were, to 
the full enjoyment of those high destinies, and be able to 
cope, single handed, with the proudest oppressor of the 
old world. 

If you prefer the latter course, as I trust you do, encour- 
age emigration — encourage the husbandmen, the mechan- 
ics, the merchants of the old world, to come and settle in 
this land of promise — make it the home of the skilful, the 
industrious, the fortunate and happy, as well as the asylum 
of the distressed — fill up the measure of your population 
as speedily as you can, by the means wfcich Heaven hath 
placed in your power — and I venture to prophesy there 
are those now living who will see this favoured land 
amongst the most powerful on earth — able, Sir, to take eare 
of herself, without resorting to that policy which is always 
so dangerous, though sometimes unavoidable, of calling in 
foreign aid. Yes, Sir — they will see her great in arts and 
in arms — her golden harvests waving over fields of im- 
measurable extent — her commerce penetrating the most 
distant seas, and her cannon silencing the vain boasts of 
those who now proudly affect to rule the waves. 

But, Sir, you must have men — you cannot get along 
without them — those heavy forests of valuable timber, un- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 161 

der which your lands are groaning, must be cleared away 
— those vast riches which cover the face of your soil, as 
well as those which lie hid in its bosom, are to be devel- 
oped and gathered only by the skill and enterprise of men 
— your timber, Sir, must be worked up into ships, to 
transport the productions of the soil from which it has been 
cleared — then, you must have commercial men and com- 
mercial capital, to take off your productions, and find the 
best markets for them abroad — your great want, Sir, is the 
want of men; and these you must have, and will have 
speedily, if you are wise. 

Do you ask how you are to get them 1 — Open your 
doors, Sir, and they will come in ! The population of the 
old world is full to overflowing — that population is ground, 
too, by the oppressions of the governments under which 
they live. Sir, they are already standing on tiptoe upon 
their native shores, and looking to your coasts with a wish- 
ful and longing eye — they see here a land blessed with na- 
tural and political advantages, which are not equalled by 
those of any other country upon earth — a land on which a 
gracious Providence hath emptied the horn of abundance — 
a land over which Peace hath now stretched forth her white 
wings, and where Content and Plenty lie down at every 
door! 

Sir, they see something still more attractive than all this 
— they see a land in which Liberty hath taken up her 
abode — that Liberty, whom they had considered as a fabled 
goddess, existing only in the fancies of poets — they see her 
here a real divinity — her altars rising on every hand 
throughout these happy states — her glories chaunted by 
three millions of tongues — and the whole region smiling 
under her blessed influence. Sir, let but this our celestial 
goddess, Liberty, stretch forth her fair hand toward the 
people of the old w T orld — tell them to come, and bid them 
welcome — and you will see them pouring in from the 
north— rfrom the south — from the east, and from the west — 
your wildernesses will be cleared and settled — your deserts 
will smile — your ranks will be filled — and you will soon be 
in a condition to defy the powers of any adversary. 

But gentlemen object to any accession from Great Bri- 
tain — and particularly to the return of the British refugees. 
Sir, I feel no objection to the return of those deluded peo- 



162 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

pie. They have, to be sure, mistaken their own interests 
most wofully, and most wofully have they suffered the pun- 
ishment due to their offences. But the relations which we 
bear to them and to their native country are now changed 
— their king hath acknowledged our independence — the 
quarrel is over — peace hath returned, and found us a free 
people. 

Let us have the magnanimity, Sir, to lay aside our anti- 
pathies and prejudices, and consider the subject in a politi- 
cal light. Those are an enterprising, moneyed people — 
they will be serviceable in taking off the surplus produce 
of our lands, and supplying us with necessaries, during the 
infant state of our manufactures. Even if they be inimi- 
cal to us in point of feeling and principle, I can see no ob- 
jection, in apolitical view, in making them tributary to our 
advantage. And as I have no prejudices to prevent my 
making this use of them, so, Sir, I have no fear of any mis- 
chief that they can do us. Afraid of them ! — what, Sir, 
shall we, who have laid the proud British lion at our feet, 
now be afraid of his whelps ? 



LESSON LXI. 
To a Child. — Anonymous. 

Things of high import sound I in thine ears, 

Dear child, though now thou may'st not feel their power, 

Ye hoard them up, and in thy coming years 

Forget them not ; and when earth's tempests lower, 

A talisman unto thee shall they be, 

To give thy weak arm strength, to make thy dim eye see. 

Seek truth — that pure celestial Truth, whose birth 
Was in the heaven of heavens, clear, sacred, shrined 

In reason's light. Not oft she visits earth ; 
But her majestic port, the willing mind, 

Through faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy soul, 

Nor faint, though error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roll. 

Be free — not chiefly from the iron chain, 
But from the one which passion forges ; be 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 163 

The master of thyself! If lost, regain 

The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free ! 
Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet, 
And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet. 

Seek virtue. Wear her armour to the fight ; 

Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, 
Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigourous might 

By each contending, turbulent ill of life. 
Seek Virtue ; she alone is all divine ; 
And, having found, be strong in God's own strength and thine. 

Truth — freedom — virtue — these, dear child, have power ? 

If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain, 
And bless thy spirit, in its darkest hour ; 

Neglect them — thy celestial gifts are vain — 
In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soiled ; 
Thy soul be crushed 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled. 



LESSON LXIL 
Eulogistic of Adams and Jefferson. — Edward Everett. 

They have gone to the companions of their cares, of 
their toils. It is well with them. The treasures of Ame- 
rica are now in Heaven. 'How long the list of our good, 
and wise, and brave, assembled there ! how few remain 
with us ! There is our Washington; and those who fol- 
lowed him in their country's confidence, are now met to- 
gether with him, and all that illustrious company. 

The faithful marble may preserve their image ; the en- 
graven brass may proclaim their worth ; but the humblest 
sod of Independent America, with nothing but the dew- 
drops of the morning to gild it, is a prouder mausoleum 
than kings or conquerors can boast. The country is their 
monument. Its independence is their Epitaph. 

But not to their country is their praise limited. The 
whole earth is the monument of illustrious men. Wherev- 
er an agonizing people shall perish, in a generous convul- 
sion, for want of a valiant arm and a fearless heart, they 
will cry, in the last accents of despair, Oh, for a Washing- 



164* THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

ton, an Adams, a Jefferson ! Wherever a regenerated 
nation, starting up in its might, shall burst the links of steel 
that enchain it, the praise of our Fathers shall be the pre- 
lude of their triumphal song. 

The contemporary and successive generations of men 
will disappear. In the long lapse of ages, the tribes of 
America, like those of Greece and Rome, may pass away. 
The fabric of American Freedom, like all things human, 
however firm and fair, may crumble into dust. But the 
cause in which these our Fathers shone is immortal. They 
did that, to which no age, no people of reasoning men, can 
be indifferent. 

Their eulogy will be uttered in other languages, when 
those we speak, like us who speak them, shall all be for- 
gotten. And when the great account of humanity shall be 
closed at the throne of God, in the bright list of his child- 
ren, who best adorned and served it, shall be found the 
names of our Adams and our Jefferson. 



LESSON LXIII. 

In Commemoration of the Completion of the Bunker-Hill 
Monument. — D. Webster. 

This column stands on Union. I know not that it might 
not keep its position, if the American Union, in the mad 
conflict of human passions, and in the strife of parties and 
factions, should be broken up and destroyed. I know not 
that it would totter and fall to the earth, and mingle its 
fragments with the fragments of Liberty and the Constitu- 
tion, when State should be separated from State, and fac- 
tion and dismemberment obliterate forever all the hopes 
of the founders of our Republic, and the great inheritance 
of their children. It might stand. But who, from beneath 
the weight of mortification and shame, that would oppress 
him, oould look up to behold it % For my part, should I 
live to such a time, I shall avert my eyes from it for ever. 

It is not as a mere military encounter of hostile armies, 
that the battle of Bunker Hill founds its principal claim to 
attention. Yet, even as a mere battle, there were circum- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 165 

stances attending it, extraordinary in character, and en- 
titling it to peculiar distinction. It was fought on this 
eminence ; in the neighbourhood of yonder city ; in the 
presence of more spectators than there were combatants 
in the conflict. Men, women and children, from every 
commanding position, were gazing at the battle, and look- 
ing for its result with all the eagerness natural to those 
who knew that the issue was fraught with the deepest con- 
sequences to them. Yet, on the sixteenth of June, 1775, 
there was nothing around this hill but verdure and culture. 
There was, indeed, the note of awful preparation in 
Boston. There was the provincial army at Cambridge 
with its right flank resting on Dorchester, and its left on 
Chelsea. But here all was peace. Tranquillity reigned 
around. 

On the seventeenth, every thing was changed. On yonder 
height had arisen, in the night, a redoubt in which Pres- 
cott commanded. Perceived by the enemy at dawn, it 
was immediately cannonaded from the floating batteries 
in the river, and the opposite shore. And then ensued the 
hurry of preparation in Boston, and soon the troops of 
Britain embarked in the attempt to dislodge the colonists, 

I suppose it would be difficult, in a military point of view, 
to ascribe to the leaders on either side, any just motive for 
the conflict which followed. On the one hand it could not 
have been very important to the Americans to attempt to 
hem the British within the town by advancing one single 
post a quarter of a mile ; while on the other hand, if the 
British found it essential to dislodge the American troops, 
they had it in their power, at no expense of life. By 
moving up their ships and batteries, they could have com- 
pletely cut off all communication with the main land over 
the neck, and the forces in the redoubt would have been, 
reduced to a state of famine in forty-eight hours. 

But that was not the day for such considerations on 
either side ! Both parties were anxious to try the strength 
of their arms. The pride of England would not permit 
the rebels, as she termed them, to defy her to the teeth ; 
and, without for a moment calculating the cost, the British 
general determined to destroy the fort immediately. On 
the other side, Prescott and his gallant followers longed 
and thirsted for a conflict* They wished it, and wished it 



166 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

at once. And this is the true secret of the movements on 
this hill. 

I will not attempt to describe the battle. The cannona- 
ding — the landing of the British — their advance — the 
coolness with which the charge was met — the repulse — 
the second attack — the second repulse — the burning of 
Charlestown — and, finally, the closing assault, and the 
slow retreat of the Americans — the history of all these is 
familiar. 

But the consequences of the battle of Bunker Hill are 
greater than those of any conflict between the hostile 
armies of European powers. It was the first great battle 
of the Revolution ; and not only the first blow, but the 
blow which determined the contest. It did not, indeed, 
put an end to the war, but in the then existing hostile 
feeling, the difficulties could only be referred to the arbi- 
tration of the sword. And one thing is certain ; that 
after the New England troops had shown themselves able 
to face and repulse the regulars, it was decided that peace 
could never be established but upon the basis of the inde- 
pendence of the colonies. When the sun of that day went 
down, the event of independence was certain ! When 
Washington heard of the battle, he inquired if the militia 
had stood the fire of the regulars ] And when told that 
they had not ouly stood the fire, but reserved their own 
till the enemy was within eight rods, and then poured it 
in with tremendous effect — " Then," exclaimed he, " the 
liberties of the country are safe !" 



LESSON LXIV. 

LocMnvar. — Walter Scott. 

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west ! 

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best, 

And, save his good broad-sword, he weapon had none ; 

He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone ! 

So faithful in love and so dauntless in war, 

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 167 

He stayed not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, 

He swam the Esk river where ford there was none — 

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late ; 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar ! 

So, boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, 
'Mong bridemen and kinsmen, and brothers and all ! 
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword — 
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word — 
" Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war ? 
Or to dance at our bridal ? young Lord Lochinvar !" 

" I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied : 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ! 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
To tread but one measure, drink one cup of wine ! 
There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar !" 

The bride kiss'd the goblet ; the knight took it up ; 
He quaff 'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup ! 
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, — 
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
" Now tread we a measure !" said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ! 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, 

And the bride-maidens whisper'd, " 'Twere better by far 

To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar !" 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 
When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood 

near ; 
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow !" quoth young 

Lochinvar. 



168 THE ELOCUTIONIST* 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby 

clan ; 
Posters, Fen wicks, and Musgfaves 5 they rode and they 

ran ; 
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea, 41 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see ! 
So daring in love and so dauntless in war, 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 



LESSON LXV. 
The Little Admiral.— *-Tkom as Moore* 

When Love, who ruled as Admiral o'er 
His rosy mother's isles of light, 

Was cruising off the Paphian shore, 
A sail at sunset hove in sight. 

" A chase ! a chase ! my Cupids all l M 

Said Love, the little AdmiraL 

Aloft the winged sailors sprung, 

And, swarming up the mast like bees, 

The snow-white sails expanding flung, 
Like broad magnolias, to the breeze. 

" Yo ho, yo ho, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little AdmiraL 

The chase was o'er — the bark was caught— 
The winged crew her freight explored ; 

And found, 't was just as Love had thought* 
For all was contraband aboard. 

"A prize, a prize, my Cupids all!" 

Said Love, the little Admiral* 

Safe stow'd in many a package there* 
And labell'd slyly o'er as " Glass," 

Were lots of all th' illegal ware 

Love's Custom House forbids to pass. 

" O'erhaul, o'erhaul, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 169 

False curls they found, of every hue, 

With rosy blushes, ready made ; 
And teeth of ivory, good as new, 

For veterans in the smiling trade. 
" Ho, ho ! ho, hoi my Cupids all !" 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Mock sighs, too, — kept in bags for use, 
Like breezes bought of Lapland seers, — 

Lay ready here to be let loose, 

When wanted, in young spinsters' ears. 

" Ha, ha ! ha, ha ! my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

False papers next on board were found, 

Sham invoices of flames and darts, 
Professedly for Paphos bound, 

But meant for Hymen's golden marts. 
" For shame ! for shame ! my Cupids all !" 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Nay, still to every fraud awake, 

Those pirates, all Love's signals, knew, 

And hoisted oft his flag, to make 
Rich wards and heiresses bring-to.* 

" A foe ! a foe ! my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

" This must not be," the boy exclaims, — 

" In vain I rule the Paphian seas, 
" If Love's and Beauty's sovereign names 

" Are lent to cover frauds like these. 
" Prepare, prepare, my Cupids all !" 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Each Cupid stood with lighted match — 
A broadside struck the smuggling foe, 

And swept the whole unhallowed batch 
Of Falsehoods to the depths below. 

" Huzza ! huzza ! my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

* " To Bring-to, to check the course of a ship."— Falcoseb. 



170 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

LESSON LXVI. 

Fulton and His Invention. — Mr. Justice Story. 

I myself have heard the illustrious inventor of the 
steamboat relate, in an animated and affecting manner, the 
history of his labours and discouragements. When, said 
he, I was building my first steamboat at New York, the 
project was viewed by the public, either with indifference 
or with contempt, as a visionary scheme. My friends, in- 
deed, were civil, but they were shy. They listened with 
patience to my explanations, but with a settled cast of 
incredulity on their countenances. I felt the full force of 
the lamentation of the poe/t, 

" Truths would you teach, to save a sinking land, 
All shun, none aid you, and few understand." 

As I had occasion to pass daily to and from the building 
yard, while my boat was in progress, I have often loitered 
unknown near the idle groups of strangers, gathering in 
little circles, and heard various inquiries as to the object of 
this new vehicle. The language was uniformly that of 
scorn, or sneer, or ridicule. The loud laugh often rose at 
my expense ; the dry jest, the wise calculation of losses 
and expenditures, the dull but endless repetition of the 
" Fulton Folly." Never did a single encouraging remark, 
a bright hope, or a warm wish, cross my path. Silence 
itself was but politeness, veiling its doubts, or hiding its 
reproaches. 

At length the day arrived, when the experiment was to 
be put into operation. To me it was a most trying and 
interesting occasion. I invited many friends to go on 
board, to witness the first successful trip. Many of them 
did me the favour to attend, as a matter of personal re- 
spect ; but it was manifest that they did it with reluctance, 
fearing to be the partners of my mortification, and not of 
my triumph. I was well aware, that, in my case, there 
were many reasons to doubt of my own success. The ma- 
chinery was new and ill-made ; many parts of it were con- 
structed by mechanics unaccustomed to such work ; and 
unexpected difficulties might reasonably be presumed to 
present themselves from other causes. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 171 

The moment arrived in which the word was to be given 
for the vessel to move. My friends were in groups on the 
deck. There was anxiety, mixed with fear, among them. 
They were silent, and sad, and weary. I read in their 
looks nothing but disaster, and almost repented of my ef- 
forts. The signal was given, and the boat moved on a 
short distance, then stopped, and then became immove- 
able. To the silence of the preceding moment, now suc- 
ceeded murmurs of discontent, and agitations, and whis- 
pers, and shrugs. I could hear distinctly repeated, " I told 
you it would "be so ; it is a foolish scheme ; I wish we 
were all well out of it." I elevated myself upon a plat- 
form, and addressed the assembly. I stated that I knew 
not what was the matter ; but if they would be quiet, and 
indulge me for half an hour, I would either go on or aban- 
don the voyage for that time. 

This short respite was conceded without objection. I 
went below, examined the machinery, and discovered that 
the cause was a slight mal- adjustment of the machinery of 
some of the work. In a short period it was obviated. 
The boat was again put in motion. She continued to 
move on. All were still incredulous. None seemed will- 
ing to trust the evidence of their own senses. We left the 
fair city of New York ; we passed through the romantic 
and ever-varying scenery of the Highlands ; we descried 
the clustering houses of Albany ; we reached its shores ; 
and then, even then, when all seemed achieved, I was the 
victim of disappointment. Imagination superseded the in- 
fluence of fact. It was then doubted if it could be done 
again ; or, if done, it was doubted if it could be made of 
any great value. 



LESSON LXVIL 

On being Installed Rector of the University of Glasgow* — 
Lord Brougham. 

It is not the less true, because it has been oftentimes 
said, that the period of youth is by far the best fitted for 
the improvement of the mind, and the retirement of college 



172 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

almost exclusively adapted to much study. At your envi- 
able age, every thing has the lively interest of novelty and 
freshness; attention is perpetually sharpened by curiosity ; 
and the memory is tenacious of the deep impressio'ns it 
thus receives, to a degree unknown in after life ; while the 
distracting cares of the world, or its beguiling pleasures, 
cross not the threshold of these calm retreats, its distant 
noise and bustle are faintly heard, making the shelter you 
enjoy more grateful ; and the struggles of anxious mortals 
embarked upon that troublous sea, are viewed from an emi- 
nence, the security of which is rendered more sweet by 
the prospect of the scene below. 

Yet a little -while, and you too will be plunged into those 
waters of bitterness ; and will cast an eye of regret, as now 
I do, upon the peaceful regions you have quitted for ever. 
Such is your lot as members of society ; but it will be your 
own fault if you look back on this place with repentance or 
with shame ; and be well assured, that, whatever time — ay, 
every hour — you squander here on unprofitable idling, will 
then rise up against you, and be paid for by years of bitter 
but unavailing regrets. 

Study, then, I beseech you, so to store your minds with 
the exquisite learning of former ages, that you may always 
possess within yourselves sources of rational and refined 
enjoyment, which will enable you to set at naught the gros- 
ser pleasures of sense, whereof other men are slaves ; and 
so imbue yourselves with the sound philosophy of later 
days, forming yourselves to the virtuous habits which are 
its legitimate offspring, that you may walk unhurt through 
the trials which await you, and may look down upon the 
ignorance and error that surround you, not with lofty and 
supercilious contempt, as the sages of old times, but with 
the vehement desire of enlightening those who wander in 
darkness, and who are by so much the more endeared to us 
by how much they want our assistance. 

To me, calmly revolving these things, such pursuits 
seem far more noble objects of ambition than any upon 
which the vulgar herd of busy men lavish prodigal their 
restless exertions. To diffuse useful information — to furth- 
er intellectual refinement, sure forerunner of moral im- 
provement — to hasten the coming of that bright day when 
the dawn of general knowledge shall chase away the lazy, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLABIATION. 173 

lingering mists, even from the base of the great social pyra- 
mid ; this indeed is a high calling, in which the most splen- 
did talents and consummate virtue may well press onward, 
eager to bear a part. 



LESSON LXVIIL 

LockieVs Warning, — C ampbel l. 

Wizard. Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scatter'd in fight : 
They rally ! — they bleed ! — for their kingdom and crown ; 
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down ! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ] 
'Tis thine, O G-lenullin ! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
Oh, weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead : 
For a merciless sword o'er Culloden shall wave, 
Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 

Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer ! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old, wavering sight, 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright ! 

Wizard. Ha! laugh' st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn % 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! 
Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth, 
From his home, in the dark -rolling clouds of the north ? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 
Ah ! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. 



t74> THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Why flames the far summit 1 Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers like stars from the firmament cast f 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlement's height, 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn : 
Return to thy dwelling, all lonely ! — return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 

Locliiel. False Wizard,avaunt! Ihavemarshall'dmyclan: 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, 
And, like reapers, descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock ! 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud ; 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — 

Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ! 
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
But man cannot cover what Go4 would reveal : 
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 
With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive king. 
Lo! anointed by Heaven with vials of wrath, 
Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight : 
Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 
'Tis finish'd. Their thunders are hush'd on the moors; 
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores ! 
But where is the iron-bound prisoner ] Where ? 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banish'd, forlorn, 
Like a lamb from his country, cast bleeding and torn t 
Ah, no ! for a darker departure is near ; 
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 175 

His death-bell is tolling ; oh ! mercy dispel 
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs, 
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 
Accursed be the faggots that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gal,e 

LochieL Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale : 
For never shall Albin a destiny meet, 
So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. 
Though my perishing ranks shall be strewed in their gore 
Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf-beaten shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid l'ow, 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! 
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. 



LESSON LXIX. 
Scene from the Tragedy of Catiline, — Rev. G. Croly 

The Senate in Session, Lictors Present, a Consul in the Chair, Cicero 
on the Floor, concluding his Speech. 

Cic. Our long dispute must close. Take one proof more 
Of this rebellion. — Lucius Catiline 
Has been commanded to attend the senate. 
He dares not come. I now demand your votes !— 
Is he condemned to exile ] 

Catiline comes in hastily, and flings himself on the bench; 
all the senators go over to the other side, 

Cic. ( Turning to Catiline.) Here I repeat the charge, 
to gods and men, 
Of treasons manifold ; — that, but this day, 
He has received despatches from the rebels; 
That he has leagued with deputies from Gaul 
To seize the province ; nay, has levied troops, 



176 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

And raised his rebel standard : — that but now 
A meeting of conspirators was held 
Under his roof, with mystic rites, and oaths, 
Pledged round the body of a murder 'd slave. 
To these he has no answer. 

Cat. (Rising calmly.) Conscript fathers ! 
I do not rise to waste the night in words ; 
Let that plebeian talk : 'tis not my trade ; 
"But here I stand for right— let him show proofs — 
For Roman right ; though none, it seems, dare stand 
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there, 
Cling to your master ; judges, Romans — slaves I 
His charge is false ;- — I dare him to his proofs. 
You have my answer. Let my actions speak ! 

Die. (Interrupting him) Deeds shall convince you! Has 
the traitor done'? 

Cat. But this I will avow, that I have scorn'd, 
And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong ; 
Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword, 
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, 
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts 
The gates of honour on me, — turning out 
The Roman from his birthright ; and for what ! (Look- 

ing round him) 
To fling your offices to every slave ; 
Vipers that creep where man disdains to climb; 
And having wound their loathsome track to the top 
Of this huge mouldering monument of Rome, 
Hang hissing at the nobler man below. 

Cic. This is his answer ! Must I bring more proofs 1 
Fathers, you know there lives not one of us, 
But lives in peril of his midnight sword. 
Lists of proscription have been handed round, 
In which your general properties are made 
Your murderer's hire. 

\Acry is heard without, " More prisoners f" An offi- 
cer enters with letters for Cicero ; who, after glan- 
cing at them, sends them round the Senate. Cata- 
line is strongly perturbed.] 

Cic. Fathers of Rome ! If man can be convinced 
By proof, as clear as day-light, here it is ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. ' 177 

Look on these letters ! Here's a deep-laid plot 
To wreck the provinces : a solemn league, 
Made with all form and circumstance. The time 
Is desperate, — all the slaves are up; — Rome shakes!— 
The heavens alone can tell how near our graves 
We stand ev'n here! — The name of Cataline 
Is foremost in the league. He was their king. 
Tried and convicted traitor ! G-o from Rome ! 

Cat. (Haughtily rising.) Come, consecrated lictors, 
from your thrones : [ To the Senate. 

Fling down your sceptres : — take the rod and axe, 
And make the murder as you make the law. 

Cic. (Interrupting him. J Give up the record of his ban- 
ishment. [ To an officer. 

\ The Officer gives it to the Consul in t/ie chair. 

Cat. (Indignantly. J Banish' d from Rome ! What's ban- 
ish'd, but set free 

From daily contact of the things I loathe 1 

" Tried and convicted traitor!" Who says this ] 

Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head ] 

Banish' d — I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain ! 

I held some slack allegiance till this hour — 

But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords ! 

I scorn to count what feelings, wither'd hopes, 

Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 

I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, , 

To leave you in your lazy dignities. 

But here I stand and scoff you ; here, I fling 

Hatred and full defiance in your face. 

Your Consul's merciful. — For this, all thanks. 

He dares not touch a hair of Cataline. 

(The Consul reads-.) " Lucius Sergius Cataline: by 
the decree of the Senate, you are declared an ene- 
my and alien to the state, and banished from the 
territory of the Commonwealth." 
The Consul. Lictors, drive the traitor from the temple ! 
Cat. (Furious.) "Traitor!" I go — but I return. This 
—trial ! 

Here I devote your Senate ! I've had wrongs 

To stir a fever in the blood of age, 

Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. 



178 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

This day's the birth of sorrows ! — this hour's work 

Will breed proscriptions : — look to your hearths, my lords! 

For there, henceforth shall sit, for household gods, 

Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes! 

Wan treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 

Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup; 

Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe, 

Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones; 

Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, 

And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave ! 

The Senators rise in tumult and cry out, 
Go, enemy and parricide, from Rome ! 

Cic. Expel him, lictors ! Clear the Senate house ! 

[ They surround him. 
Cat. (Struggling through them.) I go, but not to leap 
the gulf alone. 
I go — but when I come, 'twill be the burst 
Of ocean in the earthquake — rolling back 
In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well !— 
You build my funeral-pile, but your best blood 
Shall quench its flame. Back slaves ! (To the lictors) — I 
will return ! 

[He rushes through the portal; the scene closes. 



LESSON LXX. 

Commemorative of the First Settlement of New England. — 
D. Webster. 

Let us not forget the religious character of our origin. 
Our fathers were brought hither by their high veneration 
for the Christian religion. They journeyed by its light, 
and laboured in its hope. They sought to incorporate its 
principles with the elements of their society, and to diffuse 
its influence through all their institutions, civil, political, or 
literary. Let us cherish these sentiments, and extend this 
influence still more widely ; in the full conviction, that 
that is the happiest society, which partakes in the highest 
degree of the mild and peaceable spirit of Christianity. 

The hours of this day are rapidly flying, and this occa- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 179 

sion will soon be passed. Neither we nor our children can 
expect to behold its return. They are in the distant re- 
gions of futurity, they exist only in the all-creating power 
of Grod, who shall stand here, a hundred years hence, to 
trace, through us, their descent from the Pilgrims, and to 
survey, as we have now surveyed, the* progress of their 
country, during the lapse of a century. We would anti- 
cipate their concurrence with us in our sentiments of deep 
regard for our common ancestors. We would anticipate 
and partake the pleasure with which they will then recount 
the steps of New England's advancement. On the morn- 
ing of that day, although it will not disturb us in our re- 
pose, the voice of acclamation and gratitude, commencing 
on the Rock of Plymouth, shall be transmitted through 
millions of the sons of the Pilgrims, till it lose itself in the 
murmurs of the Pacific seas. 

We would leave for the consideration of those who shall 
then occupy our places, some proof that we hold the bles- 
sings transmitted from our fathers in just estimation ; some 
proof of our attachment to the cause of good government, 
and of civil and religious liberty ; some proof of a sincere 
and ardent desire to promote everything which may enlarge 
the understandings and improve the hearts of men. And 
when, from the long distance of an hundred years, they 
shall look back upon us, they shall know, at least, that we 
possessed affections, which, running backward, and warm- 
ing with gratitude for what our ancestors have done for our 
happiness, run forward also to our posterity, and meet them 
with cordial salutation, ere yet they have arrived on the 
shore of being. 

Advance, then, ye future generations ! We would hail 
you, as you rise in your long succession, to fill the places 
which we now fill, and to taste the blessings of existence, 
where we are passing, and soon shall have passed, our own 
human duration. We bid ^you welcome to this pleasant 
land of the fathers. We bid you welcome to the healthful 
skies and the verdant fields of New England. We greet 
your accession to the great inheritance which we have en- 
joyed. We welcome you to the blessings of good govern- 
ment, and religious liberty. We welcome you to the trea- 
sures of science, and the delights of learning. We wel- 
come you to the transcendent sweets of domestic life, to 



180 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

the happiness of kindred, and parents, and children. We 
welcome you to the immeasurable blessings of rational ex- 
istence, the immortal hopes of Christianity, and the light ot 
everlasting truth ! 



LESSON LXXL 

In Behalf of Catholic Emancipation. — Rev. Sydney Smith. 

There are a set of high-spirited men, who are very 
much afraid of being afraid ; who cannot brook the 
idea of doing any thing from fear, and whose conversa- 
tion is full of fire and sword, when any apprehension of 
resistance is alluded to. I have perfect confidence in the 
high and unyielding spirit, and in the military courage of 
the English ; and I have no doubt, but that many of the 
country gentlemen, who now call out No Popery, would 
fearlessly put themselves at the head of their embattled 
yeomanry to control the Irish Catholics. My objections 
to such courage is, that it would certainly be exercised 
unjustly, and probably exercised in vain. I should de- 
precate any rising of the Catholics, as the most grievous 
misfortune which could happen to the empire and to 
themselves. They had far better endure all they do en- 
dure, and a great deal worse, than try the experiment. 

But, if they do try it, you may depend upon it they will 
do it at their own time, and not at yours. They will not 
select a fortnight in the summer, during a profound peace, 
when corn and money abound, and when the Catholics of 
Europe are unconcerned spectators. If you make a re- 
solution to be unjust, you must make another resolution 
to be always strong, always vigilant, and always rich ; 
you must present a square phalanx of impenetrable 
strength, for keen-eyed revenge is riding round your 
ranks ; and if one heart falter, or one hand tremble, you 
are lost. 

You may call all this threatening ; I am sure I have no 
such absurd intention ; but wish only, in sober sadness, to 
point out what appeai-s to me to be the inevitable conse- 



PIECES FOE READING AND DECLAMATION. 131 

quences of the conduct we pursue. If danger be not 
pointed out and insisted upon, how is it to be avoided ? 
My firm belief is, that England will be compelled to grant 
ignominiously what she now refuses haughtily. 

It is very difficult to make the mass of mankind believe 
that the state of things is ever to be otherwise than they 
have been accustomed to see it. I have very often heard 
old persons describe the impossibility of making any one 
believe that the American Colonies could ever be separa- 
ted from this country. It was always considered as an 
idle dream of discontented politicians, good enough to 
fill up the periods of a speech, but which no practical 
man, devoid of the spirit of party, considered to be within 
the limits of possibility. There was a period when the 
slightest concession would have satisfied the Americans ; 
but all the world was in heroics ; one set of gentlemen 
met at the Lamb, and another at the Lion : blood and 
treasure men, breathing war, vengeance, and contempt; 
and in eight years afterwards, an awkward looking gentle- 
man in plain clothes walked up to the drawing-room of 
St. James's, in the midst of the gentlemen of the Lion 
and the Lamb, and was introduced as the ambassador from 
the United States of America. 

Mild and genteel people do not like the idea of perse- 
cution, and are advocates for toleration; but then they 
think* it no act of intolerance to deprive Catholics of poli- 
tical power. The history of all this is, that all men secretly 
like to punish others for not being of the same opinion 
with themselves, and that this sort of privation is* the only 
species of persecution, of which the improved feeling and 
advanced cultivation of the age will admit. Fire and 
faggot, chains and stone walls, have been clamoured 
away ; nothing remains but to mortify a man's pride, and 
to limit his resources, and to set a mark upon him, by 
cutting him off from his fair share of political power. By 
this receipt, insolence is gratified, and humanity is not 
shocked. 

The gentlest Protestant can see, with dry eyes, Lord 
Stourton excluded from Parliament, though he would 
abominate the most distant idea of personal cruelty to Mr. 
Petre. This is only to say that he lives in the nineteenth, 
instead of the sixteenth century, and that he is as ioftJ&rr 
T 



182 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

ant in religious matters as the state of manners existing in 
his age will permit. Is it not the same spirit, which 
wounds the pride of a fellow creature on account of his 
faith, or which casts his body into the flames? Are they 
any thing else but degrees and modifications of the same 
principle 1 

The minds of these two men no more differ because 
they differ in their degrees of punishment, than their 
bodies differ because one wore a doublet in the time of 
Mary, and the other wears a coat in the reign of George. 
I do not accuse them of intentional cruelty and injustice : 
I am sure there are very many excellent men, who would 
be shocked if they could conceive themselves to be guilty 
of any thing like cruelty ; but they innocently give a 
wrong name to the bad spirit which is within them, and 
think they are tolerant, because they are not as intolerant 
as they could have been in other times, but cannot be now. 
The true spirit is to search after God and for another life, 
with lowliness of heart ; to fling down no man's altar, to 
punish no man's prayer ; to heap no penalties and no pains 
on those solemn supplications, which, in divers tongues, 
and in varied forms, and in temples of a thousand shapes, 
but with one deep sense of human dependence, men 
pour forth to God. 



LESSON LXXIL 

The Rezvard of Monarchs. — E. Everett. 

About half a league from the little sea-port of Palos, in 
the province of Andalusia, in Spain, stands a convent dedi- 
cated to St. Mary. Sometime in the year 14S6, a poor 
way-faring stranger, accompanied by a small boy, makes 
his appearance, on foot, at the gate of this convent, and 
begs of the porter a little bread and water for his child. — 
This friendless stranger is Columbus. Brought up in 
the hardy pursuit of a mariner, with no other relaxation 
from its toils, but that of an occasional service in the fleets 
of his native country, with the burden of fifty years upon 
his frame, the unprotected foreigner makes his suit to the 
haughty sovereigns of Portugal and Spain. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 183 

He tells them, that the broad flat earth on which we 
tread, is round ; — he proposes, with what seems a sacrile- 
gious hand, to lift the veil which had hung, from the crea- 
tion of the world, over the floods of the ocean ; — he promi- 
ses, by a western course, to reach the eastern shores of 
Asia, — the region of gold, and diamonds, and spices ; to 
extend the sovereignty of christian kings over realms and 
nations hitherto unapproached and unknown ; — and ulti- 
mately to perform a new crusade to the holy land, and ran- 
som the sepulchre of our Saviour, with the new found gold 
of the east. 

Who shall believe the chimerical pretension ] The ' 
learned men examine it, and pronounce it futile. The 
royal pilots have ascertained by their own experience, that 
it is groundless. The priesthood have considered it, and 
have pronounced that sentence so terrific where the inqui- 
sition reigns, that it is a wicked heresy ; — the common 
sense, and popular feeling of men, have been roused first 
into disdainful and then into indignant exercise, toward a 
project, which, by a strange new chimera, represented one 
half of mankind walking with their feet toward the other half. 

Such is the reception which his proposal meets. For a 
long time, the great cause of humanity, depending on the 
discovery of these fair continents, is involved in the forti- 
tude, perseverance, and spirit of the solitary stranger, al- 
ready past the time of life, when the pulse of adventure 
beats full and high. If he sink beneath the indifference of 
the great, the sneers of the wise, the enmity of the mass, 
and the persecution of a host of adversaries, high and low, 
and give up the fruitless and thankless pursuit of his noble 
vision, what a hope for mankind is blasted ! 

But he does not sink. He shakes off his paltry ene- 
mies, as the lion shakes the dew-drops from his mane. — 
That consciousness of motive and of strength, which al- 
ways supports the man who is worthy to be supported, 
sustains him in his hour of trial ; and at length, after years 
of expectation, importunity, and hope deferred, he launch- 
es forth upon the unknown deep, to discover a new world, 
under the patronage of Ferdinand and Isabella. 

The patronage of Ferdinand and Isabella ! — Let us 
dwell for a moment on the auspices under which our coun- 
try was brought to light. The patronage of Ferdinand 
f2 



184> THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

and Isabella ! Yes, doubtless, they have fitted out a con- 
voy, worthy the noble temper of the man, and the gallant- 
ry of his project. Convinced, at length, that it is no day- 
dream of a heated visionary, the fortunate sovereigns of 
Castile and Arragon, returning from their triumph over the 
last of the Moors, and putting a victorious close to a war 
of seven centuries' duration, have no doubt prepared an 
expedition of well appointed magnificence, to go out upon 
this splendid search for other worlds. They have made 
ready, no doubt, their proudest galleon, to waft the heroic 
adventurer upon his path of glory, with a whole armada 
of kindred spirits, to share his toils and honours. 

Alas ! from his ancient resort of Palos, which he first ap- 
proached as a mendicant, in three frail barks, of which two 
were without decks, — the great discoverer of America sails 
forth on the first voyage across the unexplored waters. — 
Such is the patronage of kings ! A few years pass by ; he 
discovers a new hemisphere ; the wildest of his visions 
fade into insignificance, before the reality of their fulfil- 
ment ; he finds a new world for Castile and Leon, and 
comes back to Spain, loaded with iron fetters. Repub- 
lics, it is said, are ungrateful ; — such are the rewards of 
monarchs ! 



LESSON LXXIII. 

Reflections in Westminster Abbey. — Addison. 

When I am in a serious humour, I very often walk by 
myself in Westminster Abbey ; where the gloominess of 
the place, and the use to which it is applied, with the so- 
lemnity of the building, and the condition of the people 
who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melan- 
choly, or rather thoughtfulness, that is not disagreeable. I 
yesterday passed the whole afternoon in the church-yard, 
the cloisters, and the church ; amusing myself with the 
tomb-stones and inscriptions that I met with in those seve- 
ral regions of the dead. Most of them recorded nothing 
else of the buried person, but that he was born upon one 
day, and died upon another — the whole history of his life 
being comprehended in those two circumstances, that are 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 1S5 

common to all mankind. I could not but look upon these 
registers of existence — whether brass or marble — as a kind 
of satire upon the departed persons ; who had left no other 
memorial of them, but that they were born, and that they 
died. 

Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself 
with the digging of a grave ; and saw in every shovel-full 
of it that was thrown up, the fragment of a bone or skull — 
intermixed with a kind of fresh mouldering earth, that 
some time or other had a place in the composition of a hu- 
man body. Upon this, I began to consider with myself 
what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused to- 
gether, under the pavement of that ancient cathedral ; — 
how men and women, friends and enemies, priests and sol- 
diers, monks and prebendaries, were crumbled amongst 
one another, and blended together in the same common 
mass ; — how beauty, strength, and youth ; with old age, 
weakness, and deformity, lay undistinguished in the same 
promiscuous heap of matter ! 

I know that entertainments of this nature are apt to 
raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds, and 
gloomy imaginations : but, for my own part, though I am 
always serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy ; 
and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep and 
solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay 
and delightful ones. By this means I can improve myself 
with objects which others consider with terror. 

When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion 
of envy dies in me ; when I read the epitaphs of the beau- 
tiful, every inordinate desire goes out : when I meet with 
the grief of parents upon a tomb-stone, my heart melts with 
compassion ; when I see the tomb of the parents them- 
selves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we 
must quickly follow : when I see kings lying by those 
who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side 
by side, or the holy men who divided the world with their 
contests and disputes — I reflect, with sorrow and astonish- 
ment, on the little competitions, factions, and debates of 
mankind : when I read the several dates of the tombs — 
of some that died yesterday, and some six hundrejd years 
ago — I consider the great day when we shall all of us be 
contemporaries, and make our appearance together ! 
f3 



186 THE ELOCUTIONIST, 

LESSON LXXIV. 

The American Flag. — J. R. Drake. 

When Freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurl'd her standard to the^air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there. 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure, celestial white, 
With streakings of the morning light; 
Then from his mansion in the sun 
She call'd her eagle-bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud, 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest trumpings loud 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven, — 
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke, 
And bid its blendings shine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of victory ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high, 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on. 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet, 
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn ; 
And as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 187 

And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreathes the battle shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall ; 
Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall sink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 
When death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 
Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendours fly, 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! 

By angel hands to valour given ; 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
For ever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! 



LESSON LXXV. 

To a City Pigeon. — N. P. Willis. 

Stoop to my window, thou beautiful dove ! 
Thy daily visits have touch'd my love ! 
I watch thy coming, and list the note 
That stirs so low in thy mellow throat ; 

And my joy is high, 
To catch the glance of thy gentle eye. 
?4 



188 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves, 

And forsake the wood with its freshen'd leaves 1 

Why dost thou haunt the sultry street, 

When the paths of the forest are cool and sweet ? 

How can'st thou bear 
This noise of people — this sultry air ] 

Thou alone of the feather'd race 

Dost look unscared on the human face ; 

Thou alone, with a wing to flee, 

Dost love with man in his haunts to be ; 

And " the gentle dove" 
Has become a name for trust and love. 

A holy gift is thine, sweet bird ! 
Thou 'rt named with childhood's earliest word ! 
Thou 'rt link'd with all that is fresh and wild 
In the prison' d thoughts of the city child ! 

And thy glossy wings 
Are its brightest image of moving things. 

It is no light chance. Thou art set apart 
Wisely by Him who has tamed thy heart, 
To stir the love for the bright and fair 
That else were seal'd in this crowded air. 

I sometimes dream 
Angelic rays from thy pinions stream. 

Come, then, ever, when daylight leaves 
The page I read, to my humble eaves, 
And wash thy breast in the hollow spout, 
And murmur thy low sweet music out ! 

I hear and see 
Lessons of Heaven, sweet bird, in thee ! 



LESSON LXXVI. 

The First of March. — Horace Smith. 

The bud is in the bough, and the leaf is in the bud, 
And Earth's beginning now, in her veins to feel the blood, 
Which, warm'd by summer's sun, in th' alembic of the vine, 
From her fount will overrun, in a ruddy gush of wine. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 189 

The perfume and the bloom, that shall decorate the flower, 
Are quickening in the gloom of their subterranean bower ; 
And the juices, meant to feed trees, vegetables, fruits, 
Unerringly proceed to their pre-appointed roots. 

How awful is the thought of the wonders under ground, 
Of the mystic changes wrought in the silent, dark profound ; 
How each thing upward tends, by necessity decreed, 
And a world's support depends on the shooting of a seed ! 

The Summer's in her ark, and this sunny-pinioned day 
Is commissioned to remark whether Winter holds his 

sway : — 
Gro back, thou dove of peace, with the myrtle on thy wing, 
Say that floods and tempests cease, and the world is ripe 

for Spring. 

Thou hast fann'd the sleeping Earth, till her dreams are all 

of flowers, 
And the waters look in mirth for their overhanging bowers ; 
The forest seems to listen for the rustle of its leaves, 
And the very skies to glisten in the hope of summer eves. 

The vivifying spell has been felt beneath the wave, 

By the dormouse in its cell, and the mole within its cave ; 

And the summer tribes that creep, or in air expand their 

wing, 
Have started from their sleep at the summons of the Spring. 

The cattle lift their voices from the valleys and the hills, 
And the feather' d race rejoices with a gush of tuneful bills ; 
And if this cloudless arch fills the poet's song with glee, 
O thou sunny first of March, be it dedicate to thee ! 



LESSON LXXVII. 

Where is He ? — Henry Neele. 
" Man giveth up the ghost, and where is he ?" 

" And where is he V 7 Not by the side 
Of her whose wants he loved to tend ; 

Not o'er those valleys wandering wide, 
Where, sweetly lost, he oft would wend. 
f5 



190 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

That form beloved he marks no more ; 

Those scenes admired no more shall see ; 
Those scenes are lovely as before, 

And she as fair — but where is he ] 

No, no, the radiance ij not dim 

That used to gild his favourite hill ; 
The pleasures that were dear to him, 

Are dear to life and nature still ; 
But, ah ! his home is not as fair, 

Neglected must his garden be, 
The lilies droop and wither there, 

And seem to whisper, where is he ? 

His was the pomp, the crowded hall ! 

But where is now his proud display ? 
His — riches, honours, pleasures, all 

Desire could frame ; — but where are they 1 
And he, as some tall rock that stands 

Protected by the circling sea, 
Surrounded by admiring bands, 

Seemed proudly strong, — and where is he ? 

The church-yard bears an added stone, 

The fire -side shows a vacant chair ; 
Here sadness dwells, and weeps alone, 

And death displays his banner there ; 
The life has gone, the breath has fled, 

And what has been, no more shall be ; 
The well-known form, the welcome tread, 

O where are they, and where is he 1 



LESSON LXXVIIL 
Character of Schiller. — Thomas Carlyle. 

Literature was his creed, the dictate of his conscience ; 
he was an Apostle of the Sublime and Beautiful, and this 
his calling made a hero of him. For it was in the spirit of 
a true man that he viewed it, and undertook to cultivate it ; 
and its inspirations constantly maintained the noblest tem- 
pei 1 in his soul. 

The end of literature was not, in Schiller's judgment, to 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 191 

amuse the idle, or to recreate the busy, by showy specta- 
cles for the imagination, or quaint paradoxes and epigram- 
matic disquisitions for the understanding : least of all was 
it to gratify in any shape the selfishness of its professors, to 
minister to their malignity, their love of money, or even 
their fame. For persons who degrade it to such purpo- 
ses, the deepest contempt, of which his kindly nature could 
admit, was at all times in store. " Unhappy mortal !" says 
he, to the literary tradesman, the man who writes for gain, 
" Unhappy mortal ! that with science and art, the noblest 
of all instruments, effectest and attemptest nothing more 
than the day-drudge with the meanest ! that in the do- 
main of perfect Freedom, bearest about in thee the spirit 
of a slave !" 

As Schiller viewed it, genuine literature includes the es- 
sence of philosophy, religion, art ; whatever speaks to the 
immortal part of man. The daughter, she is likewise the 
nurse of all that is spiritual and exalted in our character. 
The boon she bestows is truth ; truth not merely physical, 
political, economical, such as the sensual man in us is per- 
petually demanding, ever ready to reward, and likely in 
general to find ; but truth of moral feeling, truth of taste, 
that inward truth in its thousand modifications, which only 
the most etherial portion of our nature can discern, but 
without which that portion of it languishes and dies ; and 
we are left divested of our birthright, thenceforward " of the 
earth earthy," machines for earning and enjoying, no longer 
worthy to be called the sons of Heaven. 

The treasures of Literature are thus celestial, imperish- 
able, beyond all price : with her is the shrine of our best 
hopes, the palladium of pure manhood; to be among the 
guardians and servants of this is the noblest function that 
can be entrusted to a mortal. Genius, even in its faintest 
scintillations, is " the inspired gift of God ;" a solemn man- 
date to its owner to go forth and labour in his sphere, to 
keep alive " the sacred fire" among his brethren, which the 
heavy and polluted atmosphere of this world is forever 
threatening to extinguish. Woe to him if he neglect this 
mandate, if he hear not its small still voice ! Woe to him 
if he turn this inspired gift into the servant of his evil or ig- 
noble passions ; if he offer it on the altar of vanity, if he 
sell it for a piece of money ! 
f6 



192 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

LESSON LXXIX. 

J/aZtf.-r-STEVENS. 

Law is law — law is law ; and as in such and so forth and 
hereby, and aforesaid, provided always, nevertheless, not- 
withstanding. Law is like a country dance, people are led 
up and down in it till they are tired. Law is like a book 
of surgery, there are a great many desperate cases in it. 
It is also like physic, they that take the least of it are best 
off. Law is like a homely gentlewoman, very well to fol- 
low. Law is also like a scolding wife, very bad when it 
follows us. Law is like a new fashion, people are bewitch- 
ed to get into it : it is also like bad weather, most people 
are glad when they get out of it. 

We shall now mention a cause, called " Bullum versus 
Boatum :" it was a cause that came before me. The 
cause was as follows : 

There were two farmers : farmer A. and farmer B. Far- 
mer A. was seized or possessed of a bull : farmer B. was 
seized or possessed of a ferry-boat. Now, the owner of 
the ferry-boat, had made his boat fast to a post on shore, 
with a piece of hay, twisted rope-fashion, or, as we say, 
vulgo vocato, a hay -band. After he had made his boat fast 
to a post on shore, as it was very natural for a hungry 
man to do, he went up town to dinner : farmer A.'s bull, 
as it was very natural for a hungry bull to do, came down 
town to look for a. dinner ; and, observing, discovering, 
seeing, and spying out some turnips in the bottom of the 
ferry-boat, the bull scrambled into the ferry-boat ; he ate 
up the turnips, and, to make an end of his meal, fell to 
work upon the hay-band : the boat, being eaten from its 
moorings, floated down the river, with the bull in it ; it 
struck against a rock, which beat a hole in the bottom of the 
boat, and tossed the bull overboard ; whereupon the own- 
er of the bull brought his action against the boat, for run- 
ning away with the bull ; the owner of the boat brought 
his action against the bull for running away with the boat. 
And thus notice of trial was given, Bullum versus Boatum, 
Boatum versus Bullum. 

Now the counsel for the bull began with saying : " My 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 193 

lord, and you gentlemen of the jury, we are counsel in 
this cause for the bull. We are indicted for running away 
with the boat. Now, my lord, We have heard of running 
horses, but never of running bulls, before. Now, my lord, 
the bull could no more run away with the boat, than a man 
in a coach may be said to run away with the horses ; there- 
fore, my lord, how can we punish what is not punishable % 
How can we eat what is not eatable % Or how can we 
drink what is not drinkable ] Or, as the law says, how 
can we think on what is not thinkable % Therefore, my 
lord, as we are counsel in this cause for the bull ; if the 
jury should bring the bull in guilty, the jury would be guil- 
ty of a bull.' ' 

The counsel for the boat observed, that the bull should 
be nonsuited ; because, in his declaration, he had not speci- 
fied what colour he was of; for thus wisely, and thus learn- 
edly, spoke the counsel ! — " My lord, if the bull was of no 
colour, he must be of some colour ; and, if he was lot of 
any colour, what colour could the bull be of V 9 I over- 
ruled this motion myself, by observing, that the bull was a 
white bull, and that white is no colour : besides, as I told 
my brethren, they should not trouble their heads to talk 
of colour, in the law, for the law can colour any thing. 
This cause being afterwards left to a reference, upon the 
award, both bull and boat were acquitted ; it being proved, 
that the tide of the river carried them both away : upon 
which, I gave it as my opinion, that, as the tide of the 
river earned both bull and boat away, both bull and boat 
had a good action against the water-bailiff. 

My opinion being taken, an action was issued ; and, up- 
on the traverse, this point of law arose : How, wherefore, 
and whether, why, when, and what, whatsoever, whereas, 
and whereby, as the boat was not a compos-mentis evidence, 
how could an oath be administered ] That point was soon 
settled, by Boatum's attorney declaring, that, foi his client, 
he would swear any thing. 

The water-bailiff's charter was then read, taken out of 
the original record, in true law Latin ; which set forth, in 
their declaration, that they were carried away either by 
the tide of flood, or the tide of ebb. The charter of the 
water-bailiff was as follows : Aquce bailiffi est magistraiits 
in chxmi super omnibus jishibws qui %abueruifvt jw&os et sea* 



194 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

los, claws, shells, et talos, qui swimmare infreshibus, vel salti- 
bus riveris, lakis, pondis, canalibus, et well boats ; sive oysteri, 
prawni, whitini, shrimpi, turbutus solus ; that is, not turbo ts 
alone, but turbots and soles both together. But now comes 
the nicety of the law : the law is as nice as a new-laid egg, 
and not to be understood by addle-headed people. Bul- 
lum and Boatum mentioned both ebb and flood, to avoid 
quibbling ; but it being proved, that they were carried 
away neither by the tide of flood, nor by the tide of ebb, 
but exactly upon the top of high water, they were nonsuit- 
ed ; but such was the lenity of the court, upon their paying 
all costs, they were allowed to begin again, de novo. 



LESSON LXXX. 
Contributions of ike New World to the Olds — D. Webster. 

Few topics are more inviting, or more fit for philosophi- 
cal discussion, than the action and influence of the new 
world upon the old ; or the contributions of America to 
Europe. Her obligations to Europe for science and art, 
laws, literature and manners, America acknowledges as she 
ought, with respect and gratitude. And the people of the 
United States, descendants of the English stock, grateful 
for the treasures of knowledge derived from their English 
ancestors, acknowledge also, with thanks and filial regard, 
that among those ancestors, Tinder the culture of Hampden 
and Sydney, and other assiduous friends, that seed of pop- 
ular liberty first germinated, which on our soil has shot up 
to its full height, until its branches overshadow all the land. 

But America has not failed to make returns. If she has 
not cancelled the obligation, or equalled it by others of like 
weight, she has, at least, made respectable advances, and 
some approaches toward equality. And she admits, that 
standing in the midst of civilized nations — -there is a high 
part which she is expected to act, for the general advance 
of human interests and human welfare. American mines 
have filled the mints of Europe with the precious metals. 
The productions of the American soil and climate have 
poured out their abundance of luxuries for the tables of 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 195 

the rich, and of necessaries for the sustenance of the poor. 
Birds and animals of beauty and value have been added to 
the European stocks ; and transplantations from the tran- 
scendant and unequalled riches of our forests have mingled 
themselves profusely with the elms, and ashes, and Druidal 
oaks of England. 

America has made contributions far more vast. Who 
can estimate the amount, or the value, of the augmentation 
of the commerce of the world, that has resulted from 
America'? Who can imagine to himself, what would be 
the shock to the Eastern Continent, if the Atlantic were no 
longer traversable, or there were no longer American pro- 
ductions, or American markets ] But America exercises 
influences, or holds out examples for the consideration of 
the Old World, of a much higher, because they are of a 
moral and political character. America has furnished to 
Europe proof of the fact that popular institutions, founded 
on equality and the principle of representation, are capable 
of maintaining governments — able to secure the rights of 
person, property, and reputation. 

America has proved that it is practicable to elevate the 
mass of mankind — that portion which in Europe is called 
the labouring, or lower class — to raise them to self-respect, 
to make them competent to act a part in the great right, 
and great duty, of self-government ; and this she has proved 
may be done by education and the diffusion of knowledge. 
She holds out an example, a thousand times more enchant- 
ing than ever was presented before, to those nine-tenths of 
the human race who are born without hereditary fortune or 
hereditary rank. 

America has furnished to the world the character of 
Washington ! And if our American institutions had done 
nothing else, that alone would have entitled them to the re- 
spect of mankind. Washington ! " First in war, first in 
peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen !" Wash- 
ington is all our own ! The enthusiastic veneration and re- 
gard in which the people of the United States hold him, 
prove them to be worthy of such a countryman ; while his 
reputation abroad reflects the highest honour on his country 
and its institutions. I would cheerfully put the question to- 
day to the intelligence of Europe and the world, what 
character of the century, upon the whole, stands out in the 



196 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

relief of history, most pure, most respectable, most sub- 
lime ; and I doubt not, that by a suffrage approaching to 
unanimity, the answer would be, Washington ! 

I claim him for America. In all the perils, in every 
darkened moment of the state, in the midst of the re- 
proaches of enemies and the misgiving of friends — I turn 
to that transcendant name for courage and for consolation. 
To him who denies, or doubts, whether our fervid liberty 
can be combined with law, with order, with the security of 
property, with the pursuits and advancement of happiness 
— to him who denies that our institutions are capable of 
producing exaltation of soul and the passion of true glory 
« — to him who denies that we have contributed anything to 
the stock of great lessons and great examples- — to all these 
I reply by pointing to Washington ! 



LESSON LXXXL 

"Peroration to the Invective against Warren Hastings — Sher- 
idan. 

fef 

Before I come to the last magnificent paragraph, let 
me call the attention of those who, possibly, think them- 
selves capable of judging of the dignity and character of jus- 
tice in this country ; — let me call the attention of those who 
arrogantly, perhaps, presume that they understand w r hat the 
features, what the duties of justice are here and in India ; 
let them learn a lesson from this great statesman, this en- 
larged, this liberal philosopher : — "I hope I shall not de- 
part from the simplicity of official language, in saying, that 
the Majesty of Justice ought to be approached with solici- 
tation, not descend to provoke or invite it, much less to 
debase itself by the suggestion of wrongs, and the promise 
of redress, with the denunciation of punishment before tri- 
al, and even before accusation." This is the exhortation 
which Mr. Hastings makes to his Counsel. This is the 
character which he gives of British justice. 

But I will ask your Lordships, do you approve this rep- 
resentation 1 Do you feel that this is the true image of 
Justice 1 Is this the character of British Justice ] Are 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 197 

these her features ? Is this her countenance ? Is this her 
gait or her mien ] No ; I think even now I hear you call- 
ing upon me to turn from this vile libel, this base carica- 
ture, this Indian pagod, formed by the hand of guilty and kna- 
vish tyranny, to dupe the heart of ignorance, — to turn from 
this deformed idol to the true Majesty of Justice here. Here, 
indeed, I see a different form, enthroned by the sovereign 
hand of Freedom, — awful, without severity — commanding, 
without pride — vigilant and active, without restlessness 01 
suspicion — searching and inquisitive, without meanness or 
debasement — not arrogantly scorning to stoop to the voice 
of afflicted innocence, and in its loveliest attitude when 
bending to 'uplift the suppliant at its feet. 

It is by the majesty, by the form of that justice, that I 
do conjure and implore your Lordships, to give your minds 
to this great business ; that I exhort you to look, not so 
much to words which may be denied or quibbled away, but 
to the plain facts, — to weigh and consider the testimony in 
your own minds : we know the result must be inevitable. 
Let the truth appear, and our cause is gained. It is this — 
I conjure your Lordships, for your own honour, for the hon- 
our of the nation, for the honour of human nature, now en- 
trusted to your care, — it is this duty that the Commons of 
England, speaking through us, claim at your hands. 

They exhort you to it by every thing that calls sublimely 
upon the heart of man — by the majesty of that Justice 
which this bold man has libelled — by the wide fame of 
your tribunal — by the sacred pledge by which you swear 
in the solemnhour of decision : knowing that that decision 
will then bring you the highest rewards that ever blessed 
the heart of man — the consciousness of having done the 
greatest act of mercy for the world, that the earth has ever 
yet received from any hand but Heaven. My Lords, I 
have done. 



LESSON LXXXII. 

Panegyric on the Eloquence of Sheridan. — Burke. 

He has this day surprised the thousands who hung with 
rapture on his accents, by such an array of talents, such an 



198 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

exhibition of capacity, such a display of powers, as are un- 
paralleled in the annals of oratory ; a display that reflected 
the highest honour on himself — lustre upon letters — re- 
nown upon parliament — glory upon the country. Of all 
species of rhetoric, of every kind of eloquence that has 
been witnessed or recorded, either in ancient or modern 
times ; whatever the acuteness of the bar, the dignity of 
the senate, the solidity of the judgment-seat, and the sacred 
morality of the pulpit, have hitherto furnished, nothing has 
equalled what we have this day heard. 

No holy seer of religion, no statesman, no orator, no man 
of any literary description whatever, has come up, in the 
one instance, to the pure sentiments of morality ; or, in 
the other, to that variety of knowledge, force of imagina- 
tion, propriety and vivacity of allusion, beauty and elegance 
of diction, strength and copiousness of style, pathos and 
sublimity of conception, to which we, this day, listened 
with ardour and admiration. From poetry up to elo- 
quence, there is not a species of composition, of which a 
complete and perfect specimen might not, from that single 
speech, be culled and collected. 



LESSON LXXXIIL 
The Battle of Ivry.—T. B. Macauley. 

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ! 

And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre ! 

Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, 

Through thy cornfields green, and sunny vales, oh plea- 
sant land of France ! 

And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the 
waters, 

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning 
daughters ; 

As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, 

For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy 
walls annoy. 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance 
of war; 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre. 



PIECES FOK READING AND DECLAMATION. 199 

Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn 
of day, 

We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ; 

With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, 

And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish 
spears. 

There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our 
land! 

And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his 
hand ; 

And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's em- 
purpled flood, 

And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; 

And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, 

To fight for his own holy Name and Henry of Navarre. 

The king has come to marshal us, in all his armour drest, 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant 

crest ; 
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ; 
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and 

hi S h * . 
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to 

wing, 
Down all our line, in deafening shout, " God save our 

lord, the King !" 
" And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may — • 
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray — 
Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the 

ranks of war, 
And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre." 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din 
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring 

culverin ! 
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, 
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. 
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
Charge for the golden lilies now, upon them with the lance ! 
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears 

in rest, 



200 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow- 
white crest ; 

And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a 
guiding star, 

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 

Now God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath 

turned his rein, 
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter — the Flemish Count 

is slain ; 
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay 

gale ; 
The held is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and 

cloven mail ; 
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, 
"Remember St. Bartholomew," was passed from man to 

man ; 
But out spake gentle Henry, then, " No Frenchman is 

my foe ; 
Down, down with every foreigner ; but let your brethren 

go-" 
Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, 
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ! 

Ho ! maidens of Vienna ! Ho ! matrons of Lucerne ! 

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never 
shall return : 

Ho ! Philip, send for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, 

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spear- 
men's souls ! 

Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms 
be bright ! 

Ho ! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward 
to-night ! 

For our God -hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath 
raised the slave, 

And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valour of the 
brave. 

Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are ; 

And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 201 

LESSON LXXXIV. 
Scene from " The Wife J 9 — J. S. Knowles. 

St. Pierre. Are we alone ] 

Ferrardo. We are alone. 

St. Pier. Art sure 
That door is unattended ? that no minions 
Watch it without 1 

Fer. I am. 

St. Pier. Wilt lock it 1 

Fer. ( Locking it, and returning.) There ! 

St. Pier. (Springing upon him.) Villain ! 

Fer. What means this violence % 

St. Pier. You struck me 
When I contended with the recreants. 
Across their arms you struck, 
And felPd me with a blow ! — now take it back ! 

Fer. Stop ! you'll repent it, if you strike ! 

St. Pier. I tell thee, 
I ne'er received a blow from mortal man 
But I did pay it back with interest ! — One by one 
I have parted with those virtues of a man 
Which precept doth inculcate ; but one grace 
Remains — the growth of nature — the true shoot 
Abuse could not eradicate, and leave 
The trunk and root alive, — one virtue — manhood? 
The brow whereon doth sit disdain of threat, 
Defiance of aggression, and' revenge 
For contumely ! You did strike me ! Come ! 
I must have blow for blow ! 

Fer. (Throwing his dagger.) Let fall thy hand 
Upon my person — lo, my dagger's free, 
And I will sheath it in thy heart ! 

St. Pier. I care not, 
So I die quits with thee ! 

Fer. I would not kill thee, 
So don't advance thy hand ! Nay, listen first, 
And then, if thou wilt, strike me ! — Strike ! — abuse 
Thy friend, who, when he struck thee, was thy friend 
As much as he is now, or ever was ; 



202 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Who struck thee, but that he should seem thy foe, 
To hide how much indeed he was thy friend ; 
Nay, if the lack of quittance for a blow — 
Which but in show was one, for 'tis the thought 
That makes the act — must constitute us foes, 
My dagger's up ! now give a blow indeed, 
For one that seem'd but one. 

St. Pier. I take 't in thought, 
And let thy person unprofaned go. 

Fer. Come, sit down. 
There's not a man in Italy save thou 
Would fret — and he the master all at once 
Of good ten thousand ducats ! Still a frown ! 
Odd's man, be merry ! rub thy hands and laugh, 
Thou art rich — look here ! [Showing a casket. 

St. Pier. How came I yesternight 
To sleep in the chamber of the duke 1 And why, 
This morning, when I left the ante-room, 
Was I assaulted by thy minions ? 

Fer. Pshaw! 
Enough, thou slept'st where thou didst sleep, next chamber 
To the duke's wife, and thereby mad'st thy fortune. , 
For every ducat of the sum I named 
Is thine — but render me one service more. 

St. Pier. Name it. 

Fer. Just write for me in boasting vein, 
Confession thou did'st pillow yesternight 
There, where the honour of the duke forbids 
That head save his should lie. 
Why do you gaze? 'Tis easily done. 

St. Pier. It is. 

Fer. It takes but pen and ink, and here they are; 
Make use of time ! the hour that is not used 
Is lost, and might have been the luckiest, 
Converted to account ; wliat ponder'st thou] 

St. Pier. The manner best to execute thy wish : 
Fm hardly in the vein — 'twould put me into't 
Would' st thou relate the means whereby I came 
To lie in the duke's chamber. 

Fer. 'T would retard thee ! 

St. Pier. No, it will rather help me. When I write 
Oft times I miss the thought, too much intent 



pieces foe: reading and declamation. 203 

On finding it, — looking at something else, 
Lo, there it stands before me of itself ! 
How came I in the chamber of the duke ? 

Fer. You supp'd, you may remember, with the count 
And me 1 

St Pier. I do. 

Fer. 'Twas plann'd between us. 

St. Pier. Well 1 

Fer. And for our end we kept the revel up — 
I mean the count and I — for, as I said 
Before, thou wast not in a joyous vein,- — 
Till all the palace had retired to rest. 

St. Pier. My lord, may't please you stop — -my thought 
has come. (He writes.) 
A fair commencement ! excellent.! most fair ! 
You see how much you help me ! there — go on : 
You r e veil 'd till the palace was at rest — 
What then ] 

Fer. Why, then, finding thee jealous still 
Of the kindly grape, we drugg'd thy cup, and, when 
The potion work'd, convey' d you in your sleep, — 
Into the chamber of the duke — of the key 
Of which I keep a duplicate — and there 
We laid you in his bed. 

St. Pier. Break off again 
While I go on ! — You see, my lord, how great 
A help you are to me ! It comes as fast 
As tho' I were inditing what you spoke — 
And now proceed again ! 

Fer. Where left I off? 

St. Pier. Where you had lain me in his highness' bed. 

Fer. You're right. There left we thee to sleep that 
nighty 
With a partition only 'twixt his wife 
And thee,— and that made frailer by a door, — 
The lock of which I from its use absolved, 
And casting 'neath her highness' couch thy scarf, 
As proof of closer neighbourhood to her, 
Withdrew to feast on foretaste of revenge. 

St Pier. Enough! 

Fer. Enough ] 

St. Pier. Tut, tut ! I only meant 



204? THE ELOCUTIONIST* 

Your highness to break off, while I resume. 
My thoughts do flow again — better and better ! 
Your grace, — a hundred ducats, I have done 
Almost as soon as you — go on — what end 
Proposed your highness to yourself by this ? 

Fer. To blast her name, and in the death of that 
Involve my cousin's life ! accordingly, 
By my direction wert thou watched and seized, 
And hither brought as partner in a crime, 
Whose penalty is death — which thou shalt 'scape — 
So thou wilt fly from Mantua, and keep 
Thy counsel. 

St. Pier, {writing.) Have you done i 

Fer. I have. 

St. Pier. And so 
Have I— a fair commencement ! better far 
Continuation ! and the winding up 
The fairest of the whole ! howsoe'er, of that 
Your highness shall be judge :— 'sdeath, here's a word 
I did not mean to write, for one I wanted ! 
I needs must take it out.— I pray your highness 
Lend me a knife, 

Fer. I have not one. 

St. Pier, Well, then, 
Your dagger-— if the edge of it is sharp* 

Fer. There 'tis. 

St. Pier. And there is the confession, duke* 
Sign it. (Pointing to the paper.) 

Fer. Why, this is my confession ! 

St. Pier. Ay, 
Indeed, your highness ? 

Fer. Word for word. 

St. Pier. You'll own 
I'm something of a clerk-— -I hardly hoped 
It Would have pleased your highness ! My lord duke, 
Sign the confession. 

Fer. Why ? 

St. Pier. It pleases me. 
If that content thee not, I'm in thy power, 
And I'd have thee in mine ! Your highness sees 
I am frank with you. 

Fer. Can, it be you, St Pierre ! 



i 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 205 

St. Pier. No — it is you ! — and not the peasant boy, 
"Whom fifteen years ago, in evil hour, 
You chanced to cross upon his native hills, — 
In whose quick eye you saw the subtle spirit 
Which suited you, and tempted it ; who took 
Your hint, and followed you to Mantua 
Without his father's knowledge — his old father, 
Who, thinking that he had a prop in him 
Man could not rob him of, and heaven would spare, 
Bless'd him one night, ere he laid down to sleep, 
And waking in the morning found him gone ! 

(Ferrardo attempts to rise. 
Move not, or I shall move — you know me ! 

Fer. Nay, 
I'll keep my seat. St. Pierre, I trained thee like 
A cavalier ! 

St. Pier. You did — you gave me masters, 
And their instructions quickly I took up 
As they did lay them down ! I got the start 
Of my cotemporaries ! — not a youth 
Of whom could read, write, speak, command a weapon, 
Or rule a horse with me ! you gave me all — 
All the equipments of a man of honour, — 
But you did find a use for me, and made 
A slave, a profligate, and pander of me ! 

(Ferrardo ahotU to rise. 
I charge you keep your seat ! 

Fer. You see I do ! 
St. Pierre, be reasonable ! — you forget 
There are ten thousand ducats. 

St. Pier. Give me, duke, 
The eyes that look'd upon my father's face ! 
The hands that helped my father to his wish ! 
The feet that flew to do my father's will ! 
The heart that bounded at my father's voice ! 
And say that Mantua were built of ducats, 
And I could be its duke at cost of these, 
I would not give them for it ! Mark me, duke ! 
I saw a new made grave in Mantua, 
And on the head-stone read my father's name ! — 
To seek me, doubtless, hither he had come — 
To seek the child that had deserted him — 



206 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

And died here, — ere he found me. 

Heaven can tell how far he wandered else ! 

Upon that grave I knelt an altered man, 

And, rising thence, I fled from Mantua — nor had returnM, 

But tyrant hunger drove me back again 

To thee — to thee ! — my body to relieve 

At cost of my dear soul ! I have done thy work, — 

Do mine ! and sign me that confession straight. 

I'm in thy pow'r, and I'll have thee in mine ! 

Fer. Art thou indeed in earnest ? 

St. Pier. Look in my eyes. 

Fer. Saint Pierre, perhaps I have underpaid the© % 

St Pier. Sign! 

Fer. I'll double the amount ! 

St. Pier. Come, sign ! 

Fer. Saint Pierre, 
Will forty thousand ducats please thee ? 
. ' St. Pier. There's 
The dial, and the sun is shining on it — 
The shadow on the very point of twelve — 
My case is desperate ! Your signature 
Of vital moment is unto my peace ! 
My eye is on the dial ! Pass the shadow 
The point of noon, the breadth of but a hair 
As can my eye discern — and, that unsign'd, 
The steel is in thy heart— I speak no more ! 

Fer. St. Pierre ! — Not speak — St. Pierre ! 

St. Pier. Is it signed ? 

Fer. ( Writing hurriedly.) It is ! 

St. Pier. Your signet, as a proof I am at large : 
Now take my station in the closet — No 
Attempt at an alarm — In, in I say ! 

Hold wind we'll make the port. — I thank your highness! 
[Opens door, speaks aloud, and exit.] 



LESSON LXXXV. 

Hours of Idleness . — Wordsworth. 

There is no remedy for time misspent, 
No healing for the waste of idlenesss, 



I 
PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 207 

Whose very languor is a punishment 

Heavier than active souls can feel or guess. 

O hours of indolence and discontent, 

Not now to be redeemed ! ye sting not less 

Because I know this span of life was lent 
For lofty duties, not for selfishness ; 

Not to be whiled away in aimless dreams, 
But to improve ourselves and serve mankind, 
Life and its choicest faculties were given. 

Man should be ever better than he seems : 
And shape his acts, and discipline his mind, 
To walk adorning earth, with hope of heaven ! 



LESSON LXXXVL 
Fame,- — Joanna Baillie. 

Oh ! who shall lightly say that fame 
Is nothing but an empty name ! 
Whilst in that sound there is a charm 
The nerves to brace, the heart to warm, 
As, thinking of the mighty dead, 

The young from slothful couch will start, 
And vow, with lifted hands upspread, 

Like them to act a noble part ? 

Oh ! who shall lightly say that fame 
Is nothing but an empty name ! 
When, but for that, our mighty dead, 

All ages past a blank would be, 
Sunk in oblivion's murky bed — 

A desert bare, a shipless sea 1 
They are the distant objects seen — 
The lofty marks of what hath been. 

Oh ! who shall lightly say that fame 
Is nothing but an empty name ! 
When mem 'ry of the mighty dead 

To earth- worn pilgrim's wistful eye, 
The brightest rays of cheering shed, 

That point to immortality ! 



508 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

LESSON LXXXVII. 
The Pauper's Death-bed. — Mrs. Southey. 

Tread softly— bow the head — 
In reverent silence bow — 

No passing bell doth toll — i 

Yet an immortal soul 
Is passing now. 

Stranger ! however great, 
With lowly reverence bow; 

There's one in that poor shed — 

One by that paltry bed — 
Greater than thou. 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 
Lo ! Death doth keep his state : 

Enter: — no crowds attend, — 

Enter — no guards defend 
This palace gate. 

That pavement, damp and cold, 
No smiling courtiers tread ; 

One silent woman stands, 

Lifting with meagre hands 
A dying head. 

No mingling voices sound — 

An infant wail alone ; 
A sob suppress 'd-^-again 
That short deep gasp, and then 

The parting groan. 

Oh ! change — Oh ! wondrous changi 
Burst are the prison bars — 

This moment there, so low, 

So agonised, and now 
Beyond the stars ! 

Oh ! change — stupendous change ! 

There lies the soulless clod : 
The Sun eternal breaks — 
The new Immortal wakes — 

Wakes with his God. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 209 



LESSON LXXXVIII. 

Last Scene of the Tragedy of u Brutus." — J. H. Pajtne. 

Citizens Present. At the left of the stage a tribunal, with a consular 

chair upon it. Brutus enters, followed by Valerius, and ascends the 

tribunal. 

Br. Romans, the blood which hath been shed this day 
Httth been shed wisely. Traitors, who conspire 
Against mature societies, may urge 
Their acts as bold and daring ; and though villains, 
Yet they are manly villains — But to stab 
The cradled innocent, as these have done — 
To strike their country in the mother-pangs 
Of struggling child-birth, and direct the dagger 
At freedom's infant throat — is a deed so black, 
That my foil'd tongue refuses it a name. \A pause* 

There is one criminal still left for judgment. 
Let him approach. 

[Titus is brought in by the Lictors. 
Pris — on — er — 

_ [The voice of Brutus falters, and is choked, and he 
exclaims, with violent emotion — 
Romans ! forgive this agony of grief — 
My heart is bursting — Nature must have way — 
I will perform all that a Roman should — 
I cannot feel less than a father ought ! 

[He becomes more calm. G-ives a signal to the Lic- 
tors to fall bach, and advances from the judgment' 
seat to the front of the stage, on a line with his son. 
Well, Titus, speak — how is it with thee now ] 
Tell me, my son, art thou prepar'd to die ] 

TL Father, I call the pow'rs of heaven to witness 
Titus dares die, if so you have decreed. 
The gods will have it so. 

Br. They will, my Titus : 
Nor heav'n, nor earth, can have it otherwise. 
It seems as if thy fate were pre-ordain' d 
To fix the reeling spirits of the people, 
And settle the loose liberty of Rome. 
'Tis fix'd ;— oh, therefore, let not fancy cheat thee : 



210 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

So fix'd thy death, that 'tis not in the power 
Of mortal man to save thee from the axe. 

Ti. The axe ! — Oh heaven ! — Then must I fall so basely ? 
What, shall I perish like a common felon ? 

Br. How else do traitors suffer ? — Nay, Titus, more — 
I must myself ascend yon sad tribunal — 
And there behold thee meet this death of shame — 
With all thy hopes and all thy youth upon thee. — 
See thy head taken by the common axe — 
All — if the gods can hold me to my purpose — 
Without one groan, without one pitying tear. 

Ti. Die like a felon 1 — -Ha ! a common felon !— 
But I deserve it all : — yet here I fail : — 
This ignominy quite unmans me ! 

Oh, Brutus, Brutus ! Must I call you father, [Kneels* 

Yet have np token of your tenderness, 
No sign of mercy 1 Not even leave to fall 
As noble Romans fall, by my own sword % 
Father, why should you make my heart suspect 
That all your late compassion was dissembled? 
How can I think that you did ever love me ? 

Br. Think that I love thee by my present passion, 
By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here, 
These sighs that strain the very strings of life — 
Let these convince you that no other cause 
Could force a father thus to wrong his nature. 

Ti. Oh, hold, thou violated majesty : [Rises, 

I now submit with calmness to my fate. 
Come forth, ye executioners of justice — 
Come, take my life — and give it to my country ! 

Br. Embrace thy wretched father. May the gods 
Arm thee with patience in this awful hour. 
The sov'reign magistrate of injur' d Rome 
Condemns a crime, thy father's heart forgives. 
Go — meet thy death with a more manly courage 
Than grief now suffers me to show in parting ; 
And, while she punishes, let Rome admire thee ! 
Farewell ! Eternally farewell ! — 

Ti. Oh, Brutus ! Oh, my father !— 

Br. What would'st thou say, my son ? 

Ti. Wilt thou forgive me? 
When I shall be no more, forget not my Tarquinia. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 211 

Br. Leave her to my care. 

Ti. Farewell, for ever ! 

Br. For ever. [Brutus re-ascends the tribunal. 

Lictors attend ! —conduct your pris'ner forth ! 

Vol. (Rapidly and anxiously.) Whither ! 

[All the characters bend forward in great anxiety. 
Br. To death ! — (All start.) When you do reach the 
spot 
My hand shall wave, your signal for the act, 
Then let the trumpet's sound proclaim it done ! 

[Titus is conducted out by the Lictors. A dead 
march — which gradually dies away as it becomes 
more distant. Brutus remains seated in a melan- 
choly posture on the tribunal. 
Poor youth ! Thy pilgrimage is at an end ! 
A few sad steps have brought thee to the brink 
Of that tremendous precipice, whose depth 
No thought of man can fathom. Justice, now, 
Demands her victim ! A little moment — 
And I am childless !— One effort, and 'tis past ! — 

[He rises and waves his hand, convulsed with agita- 
tion, then drops on his seat, and shrouds his face 
with his toga. Three sounds of the trumpet are 
heard instantly. All the characters assume atti- 
tudes of deep misery. — Brutus starts up wildly, 
descends to the front in extreme agitation, looks out 
on the side by which Titus departed for an instant, 
then, with an hysterical burst, exclaims, 
Justice is satisfied, and Rome is free ! 

[Brutus falls. — The characters group around him. 



LESSON LXXXIX. 

On the Being of a God. — Young. 

Retire ; — the world shut out — thy thoughts call home ! 

Imagination's airy wing repress ; 

Lock up thy senses ; — -let no passion stir ; — 

Wake all to Reason ;— let her reign alone :— 



212 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Then, in thy soul's deep silence, and the depth 
Of nature's silence, — midnight, thus inquire, 
As I have done ; and shall inquire no more. 
In Nature's channel, thus the questions run. 

What am I ] and from whence ] I nothing know, 
But that I am ; and, since I am, conclude 
Something eternal. Had there e'er been nought, 
Nought still had been ; eternal there must be. 
But what eternal 1 — why not human race ; 
And Adam's ancestors without an end ? — 
That's hard to be conceived ; since every link 
Of that long-chain' d succession is so frail : 
Can every part depend, and not the whole ? 
Yet, grant it true, new difficulties rise : 
I'm still quite out at sea, nor see the shore. 
Whence earth, and these bright orbs 1— eternal, too 1 — 
Grant matter was eternal ; still these orbs 
Would want some other father. Much design 
Is seen in all their motions, all their makes. 
Design implies intelligence and art ; 
That can't be from themselves — or man ; that art 
Man scarce can comprehend, could man bestow ? 
And nothing greater, yet allowed than man. — 
Who, motion, foreign to the smallest grain, 
Shot through vast masses of enormous weight ? 
Who bade brute matter's restive lump assume 
Such various forms, and gave it wings to fly ] 
Has matter innate motion ? then, each atom, 
Asserting its indisputable right 
To dance, would form a universe of dust. 
Has matter none 1 then whence these glorious forms, 
And boundless flights, from shapeless, and reposed ] 
Has matter more than motion % Has it thought, 
Judgment, and genius % Is it deeply learn 'd 
In mathematics ? Has it framed such laws, 
Which, but to guess, a Newton made immortal % — 
If so, how each sage atom laughs at me, 
Who think a clod inferior to a man ! 
If art, to form ; and counsel to conduct — 
And that with greater far than human skill, 
Resides not in each block ; — a Godhead reigns. — 
And, if a God there is, that God how great ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 213 



LESSON XC. 

Henry F. to his Soldiers'. — Shakspeare. 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; 
Or close the wall up with the English dead ! 
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, 
As modest stillness and humility : 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
.Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage ; 
Then, lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
Let it pry through the portage of the head 
Like the brass cannon !. 

Now, set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; 
Hold hard the breath ; and bend up every spirit 
To its full height. Now, on, you noblest English! 
Whose blood is fetch'd from fathers of war proof; 
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 
Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, 
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument ! 
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
Straining upon the start. — The game's afoot ! — 
Follow your spirit ; and, upon this charge, 
Cry, God for Harry, England, and St. George ! 



LESSON XCL 
Marccllus's Speech to the Mob.— Ib. 

Wherefore rejoice 1 that Caesar comes in tiiumph! 

What conquest brings he home ] 

What tributaries follow him to Rome, 

To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels ? 

You blocks ! you stones ! you worse than senseless things! 

Oh, you hard hearts ! you cruel men of Rome ! 

Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 

Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, 

To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops — 



214 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Your infants in your arms — and there have sat 
The live-long day, with patient expectation, 
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome i 
And, when you saw his chariot but appear, 
Have you not made a universal shout, 
That Tiber trembled underneath his banks, 
To hear the replication of your sounds, 
Made in his concave shores ] 
And do you now put on your best attire % 
And do you now cull out a holiday ] 
And do you now strew flowers in his way, 
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? 

Begone ! 

Run to your houses ! fall upon your knees ! 
Pray to the Gods to intermit the plague, 
That needs must light on this ingratitude ! 



LESSON XCIL 
Henry V*$ Speech before the Battle of Agincourt. — Ib. 

WHAT^jjp^that wishes for more men from England ? 

My c&usin Westmoreland ! — No, my fair cousin; 

If we are mark'd to die, we are enow 

To do our country loss ; and, if to live, 

The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 

No, no, my lord ! wish not a man from England! 

Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, throughout my host, 

That he who hath no stomach to this fight, 

May straight depart : his passport shall be made, 

And crowns for convoy put into his purse : 

We would not die in that man's company ! 

This day is called the Feast of Crispian. 
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 
Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named, 
And rouse him at the name of Crispian ! 
He that outlives this day, and sees old age, 
Will, yearly on the vigil, feast his neighbours : 
And say — To-morrow is Saint Crispian ! 
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars. 

Old men forget, yet shall not all forget, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 215 

But they'll remember with advantages, 
"What feats they did that day. Then shall our names, 
Familiar in their mouths as household words, — 
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, 
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Grlo'ster, — 
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. 
This story shall the good man teach his son ; 
And Crispin Crispian's day shall ne'er go by, 
From this time to the ending of the world, 
But we in it shall be remember' d ; 
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ! 
For he, to-day, that sheds his blood with me, 
Shall be my brother — be he e'er so vile, 
This day shall gentle his condition ; 
And, gentlemen in England, now a-bed, 
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here ; 
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks 
That fought with us upon Saint Crispian's day. 



LESSON XCIII. 

Rolla to the Peruvians.— Sheridan. 

My brave associates ! — partners of my toil, my feelings, 
and my fame ! Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtu- 
ous energies which inspire your hearts ] — No ; — you have 
judged, as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which 
these bold invaders would delude you. — Your generous 
spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which, in a 
war like this, can animate their minds and ours. — They, 
by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, 
and extended rule ; — we, for our country, our altars, and 
our homes. — They follow an adventurer whom they fear, 
and obey a power which they hate ; — we serve a monarch 
whom we love,— a God whom we adore. — Whene'er they 
move in anger, desolation tracks their progress ! — When- 
e'er they pause in amity, affliction moums their friendship. 
— They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge 
our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error ! — Yes — \ 
they — they will give enlightened freedom to pur minds, 
who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and 



216 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

pride ! — They offer us their protection — yes, such protec- 
tion as vultures give to lambs — covering and devouring 
them ! — They call on us to barter all of good we have in- 
herited and proved, for the desperate chance of something 
better which they promise. — Be our plain answer this : 
The throne we honour, is the people's choice — the laws 
we reverence, are our brave fathers' legacy — the faith we 
follow, teaches us to live in the bonds of charity with all 
mankind, and die with the hope of bliss beyond the grave. 
— Tell your invaders this, and tell them, too, we seek no 
change ; and least of all, such change as they would bring 
us. 



LESSON XCIV. 

Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul. — Addison. 

It must be so — Plato, thou reason'st well ! — 

Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 

This longing after immortality ? 

Or, whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 

Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul 

Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? — 

'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us ; 

'Tis Heaven itself that points out an Hereafter, 

And intimates Eternity to man ! 

Eternity ! — thou pleasing — dreadful thought ! 

Through what variety of untried being, 

Through what new scenes and changes, must we pass ! 

The wide, the unbounded prospect, lies before me — 

But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. 

Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us — 

And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 

Through all her works — He must delight in virtue ; 

And that which He delights in, must be happy. 

But when ? or where *? This world was made for Caesar. 

I'm weary of conjectures — this must end them. 

[Laying his hand on his « 
Thus am I doubly arm'd : — My death and life, 
My bane and antidote , are both before me. 
This — in a moment — brings me to an end ; 
But this — informs me I shall never die ! 



PIECES FOR HEADING AND DECLAMATION. 217 

The soul, secure in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. — 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years ; 
But thou shalt nourish in immortal youth, 
Unhurt amid the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds ! 



LESSON XCV. 

TJie Coral Grove. — J. G-. Percival. 

Deep in the wave is a coral grove, 

"Where the purple mullet and goldfish rove, 

Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, 

That never are wet with falling dew, 

But in blight and changeful beauty shine, 

Far down in the green and glassy brine ; 

The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, 

And the pearl shells spangle the flinty snow ; 
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift 

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow ; 
The water is calm and still below, 

For the winds and waves are absent there, 
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 

In the motionless fields of upper air : 
There with its waving blade of green, 

The sea-flag" streams through the silent water, 
And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 

To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter : 
There, with a light and easy motion, 

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ■ 
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 

Are bending like corn on the upland lea : 
And life, in rare and beautiful forms, 

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, 
And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms 

Has made the top of the wave his own : 
And when the ship from his fury flies, 

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, 
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, 

And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; 

G 



218 



THE ELOCUTIONIST, 



Then far below in the peaceful sea, 
The purple mullet and goldfish rove, 

Where the waters murmur tranquilly, 

Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. 



LESSON XCVL 

On the Bill to refund to Gen, Jackson the Fine imposed upon 
him at New Orleans, 1815. — W. C. Preston. 

Escaping for an instant from our bitter party struggles, 
and going back to mingle our recollections and sympathies 
^ upon the battle-ground of New Orleans, I would not tar- 
nish the moment of pure and generous feeling with any 
emotion or act inconsistent with them. For one, my mem- 
ory and my heart revert to that scene and that time, with 
an entire oblivion of all the circumstances that have sepa- 
rated me from, and placed me in opposition to, General 
Jackson since. I will not detract from the glory, or di- 
minish my admiration, of the illustrious chief, by the re- 
tro-active influence of subsequent events ; but, forgetting 
and overlooking the intervening space, I place myself 
where I was twenty-five years ago, with the glow of pa- 
triotic gratitude and exulting admiration that then swelled 
my bosom, enhanced as it was by personal affection for its 
object. 

I see him amidst his victorious fellow-soldiers, and in 
the presence of a city which his skill and courage had res- 
cued from rapine and ruin, the theme of all praise, the ob- 
ject of all gratitude, the depository of all the tributes of 
the human heart. But by the transaction (now brought to 
mind by this bill,) he was placed, as it seems to me, in a 
still higher and nobler attitude. In the very flush of vic- 
tory, with his soldiers around him, and in the city he had 
saved, he was summoned to a trial for an imputed misde- 
meanour ; and I confess, Mr. President, that, more than the 
battle, it swells my bosom to see him bend that laurelled 
brow before the seat of justice — patiently taking its cen- 
sure and submitting to its award. 

Indeed, it was a very noble spectacle^ and has embla- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 219 

zoned the principle of our institutions, that the military is 
subordinate to the civil authority, and that all men are 
equal in the law. General Jackson, however, was not the 
only person in this grand spectacle. There was, too, the 
representative of that quiet authority, which rests upon an 
unseen moral power. There was the judge, who sum- 
moned the General, who pronounced judgment upon him, 
at such a moment, under such circumstances. An Eng- 
lish monarch congratulated himself, and with good cause, 

that he had 

" A man so bold 

That dare do justice on my proper son ; 
^ And not less happy having such a son, 

That would deliver up his greatness so 

Into the hands of justice." 

And our republic may with equal truth congratulate her- 
self upon having such a judge and such a general. 

While we propose to throw a bright and warm colour- 
ing upon one of the figures in this picture, it is equally the 
dictate of taste, of sentiment, and of justice, that we do not 
throw a shade upon the other ; and this, I fear, will be or 
may be- the case, if we pass the bill in its present shape, 
without guarding it against unjust implications, or accom- 
panying it with a statement of the facts. To this end, I 
am inclined to move a recommitment of the bill, with in- 
structions to report the facts connected with the levying of 
the fine. I should be very much ashamed of having so im- 
perfect a recollection of the minute particulars of an aifair 
so honourable to the country, did I not reflect, that in all 
striking events of this kind, details are forgotten in the gen- 
eral result ; or rather that the impression made by the 
whole is so strong as to prevent any impression by the 
parts ; and this accounts for the varying recollections of 
each of the gentlemen who have spoken. 

The senator from Pennsylvania, whose speech purported 
to be the most circumstantial detail, I rather think has fall- 
en into the greatest error of any one, who has spoken. He 
attributes the conduct of the judge, who imposed the fine 
on General Jackson, to some supposed personal offence ; 
whereas, I take the fact to have been, that the process of 
contempt was issued against the general for disobeying the 
exigency of a writ of habeas corpus, directing him to pro- 
duce a person held in confinement by his orders. The case 
g2 



220 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

I take to be shortly this : The general had established 
martial law, and, by virtue of it, had arrested an individual. 
The prisoner sued out his writ of habeas corpus, returna- 
ble before Judge Hall. The general refused to produce 
him, and the judge fined the general a thousand dollars. 

I cannot but believe the senator makes an unjust, as he 
certainly does an unnecessary imputation upon Judge Hall, 
when he attributes to him motives so paltry as personal 
pique and irritation. The relative conditions of the judge 
and general forbid such a conclusion. The judge could not 
have been prompted to or restrained in so high and bold a 
course, by motives so petty and . unworthy. They could 
not have inspired him with the courage necessary for the 1 
performance of such an act. How he lacked the support 
of all sympathy — how utterly solitary he was in perform- 
ing his duty, is proved by the fact, that when he pronounc- 
ed judgment, the assembled multitude rushed forward to 
pay the fine : the ladies begged the honour to be permit- 
ted to discharge it ; and, doubtless, ten times the sum would 
have been advanced by the eager and grateful citizens, if 
General Jackson had not thought it a fit occasion to incul- 
cate in his own person a lesson of submission to the laws. 
As it was, the ladies did subscribe a thousand dollars for 
this purpose, which, by the direction of the general, was 
appropriated to the widows and orphans of the late battle, 
and he paid the fine with his own money. 

Amidst the state of feeling, evinced by such acts, the 
judge could have found no support, but rather cause 
for dismay and shrinking, from the influence of any un- 
worthy impulses. The consciousness of malice would 
have made him a coward. Nothing but an ennobling sense 
of duty could have endowed him with a courage as hero- 
ical as that which he confronted, and which enabled him to 
withstand the ardour of the citizens and the brow of the 
conqueror. 

The case, therefore, presents itself to us, as I trust it 
will to posterity — as one in which a commanding general, 
in the zealous and honest discharge of his duty, in time of 
war, did an act, which a judge, in the zealous and honest 
discharge of his duty, pronounced against. In this view of 
the matter, we may remit the fine without inflicting cen-. 
sure any where ; and while we manifest our gratitude to 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 221 

General Jackson, show that we respect the lesson which 
he gave us of deference to the judge. 



LESSON XCVIL 
On Arming for War with England, Dec, 1811. — H. Clay. 

Gentlemen have inquired, what will be gained by the 
contemplated war ? I ask, in turn, what will you not lose 
by your mongrel state of peace with Great Britain ] Do 
you expect to gain any thing in a pecuniary view 1 No, 
sir. Look at your treasury reports. We now receive 
only six millions of revenue annually ; and this amount 
must be diminished in the same proportion as the rigourous 
execution of the orders in council shall increase. Before 
these orders existed, jve received sixteen millions. We 
lose, then, to the amount of ten millions of revenue per an- 
num by our present peace. A war would produce the re- 
peal of the orders in council ; and our revenue would be 
restored, our commerce would flourish, our wealth and 
prosperity would advance. 

But England, it seems, is fighting the battles of mankind ; 
and we are asked, shall we weaken her magnanimous ef- 
forts 1 For argument's sake, let us concede the fact, that 
the French Emperor is aiming at universal empire ; can 
Great Britain challenge our sympathies, when, instead of 
putting forth her arms to protect the world, she has con- 
verted the war into a means of self-aggrandizement ; when, 
under pretence of defending them, she has destroyed the 
commerce and trampled on the lights of every nation ; — 
when she has attempted to annihilate every vestige of the 
public maritime code of which she professes to be the 
champion] Shall we bear the cuffs and scoffs of British arro- 
gance, because we may entertain chimerical fears of French 
subjugation ] Shall we swallow the potion of British poi- 
son, lest we may be presented with the imperial dose 1 — 
Are we called upon to bow to the mandates of royal inso- 
lence, as a preparation to contend against Gallic usurpa- 
tion ? 

Who ever learned in the school of base submission, the 
lessons of noble freedom, and courage, and independence % 
g3 



222 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Look at Spain. Did she secure her independence by sub- 
mitting, in the first instance, to the dictates of imperial 
usurpations % No, sir. If she had resisted the first intru- 
sion into her councils, her monarch would not at this time 
be a miserable victim in the dungeons of Marseilles. We 
cannot secure our independence of one power, by a das- 
tardly submission to the will of another. But look at our 
own history. Our ancestors of the Revolution resisted the 
first encroachments of British tyranny. They foresaw that 
by submitting to pay an illegal tax, contemptible as that 
was in itself, their liberties would ultimately be subverted. 

Consider the progress of the present disputes with Eng- 
land. For what were we contending the other day % For 
the indirect colonial carrying trade. That has vanished. 
For what are we now deliberating ] For the direct export 
and import trade ; the trade in our own cotton, and tobac- 
co, and fish. Give this up, and to-morrow we must take 
up arms for our right to pass from New York to New Or- 
leans ; from the upper country on James River to Richmond. 

Sir, when did submission to one wrong, induce an adver- 
sary to cease his encroachments on the party submitting 1 
But we are told that we ought only to go to war when our 
territory is invaded. How much better than invasion, is 
the blocking of our very ports and harbours, insulting our 
towns, plundering our merchants, and scouring our coasts % 
If our fields are surrounded, are they in a better condition 
than if invaded % When the murderer is at our doors, 
shall we meanly skulk to our cells % Or shall we boldly 
oppose him at his entrance % 



LESSON XCVIII. 

Love, — Southey. 

They sin who tell us love can die ; — 

With life all other passions fly, 

All others are but vanity. 

In heaven ambition cannot dwell, 

Nor avarice in the vaults of hell ; — 

Earthly these passions, as of earth, 

They perish when they have their birth. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 223 

But love is indestructible, — 

Its holy flame for ever burnetii, — 

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth ; 

Too oft on earth a troubled guest, 

At times deceived, at times opprest ; 

It here is tried and purified, 

And hath in heaven its perfect rest; 

It soweth here with toil and care, 

But the harvest time of Love is there. 

Oh ! when a mother meets on high 

The babe she lost in infancy, 

Hath she not then, for pains and fears, 

The day of woe, the anxious night, 
For all her sorrow, all her tears, 

An over-payment of delight ! 



LESSON XCIX. 

America to Great Britain. — Washington Allston. 

All hail ! thou noble land, 
Our fathers' native soil ! 
Oh, stretch thy mighty hand, 
Gigantic grown by toil, 
O'er the vast Atlantic wave to oar shore : 
For thou, with magic might, 
Canst reach to where the light 
Of Phoebus travels bright 
The world o'er ! 

The Genius of our clime, 

From his pine -embattled steep, 
Shall hail the great sublime ; 
While the Tritons of the deep 
With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim. 
Then let the world combine — 
O'er the main our naval line, 
Like the milky way, shall shine 
Bright in fame ! 
g4 



224 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Though ages long have passed 

Since our fathers left their home, 
Their pilot in the blast, 

O'er untraveird seas to roam, — 
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins ! 
And shall we not proclaim 
That blood of honest fame, 
Which no tyranny can tame 
By its chains ? 

While the language, free and bold, 

Which the bard of Avon sung, 
In which our Milton told 

How the vault of heaven rung, 
When Satan, blasted, fell with all his host; 
While this, with reverence meet, 
Ten thousand echoes greet, 
From rock to rock repeat 
Round our coast ; 

While the manners, while the arts, 

That mould a nation's soul, 
Still cling around our hearts, 
Between let ocean roll, 
Our joint communion breaking with the sun: 
Yet, still, from either beach, 
The voice of blood shall reach, 
More audible than speech, 
" We are one !" 



LESSON C. 

Cardinal Wolsey's Speech to Cromwell.— Shaksveare. 

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear, 

In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, 

Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 

Let's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 

And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 

And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention 

Of me must more be heard ; say, then, I taught thee — 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 225 

Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, 

Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; 

A sure and safe one — though thy master miss'd it. 

Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me : 

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ! 

By that sin fell the angels ; how can man, then, . 

The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't ? 

Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee : 

Corruption wins not more than honesty. 

Still, in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. 

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 

Thy God's, and truth's : then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, 

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king; 

And, — Pr'ythee, lead me in 

There take an inventory of all I have ; 

To the last penny, — 'tis the king's. My robe, 

And my integrity to Heaven, are all 

I dare now call my own. O Cromwell ! Cromwell ! 

Had I but served my God with half the zeal 

I served my king, he would not, in mine age, • 

Have left me naked to mine enemies. 



LESSON CI. 

The Mariner's Dream. — Dimond. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay, 

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ; 

But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, 
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; 

While memory stood sideways, half cover'd with flowers, 
And restored every rose, but secreted the thorn. 

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ; 

Now, far, far behind him the green waters glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 
g5 



226 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, 

And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall; 

All trembling with transport he raises the latch,. 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. 

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight, 

His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear ; 

And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite v 

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, 
Joy quickens his pulse — all his hardships seem o'er; 

And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest — 
" Oh God ! thou hast blest me, I ask for no more." 

Ah ! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye ! 

Ah ! what is that sound that now 'larums his ear ? 
'Tis the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky ! 

'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere! 

He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck ; 

Amazement confronts him with images dire ;— - 
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck, 

The masts fly in splinters- — the shrouds are on fire ! 

Like mountains the billows tumultuously swell, 
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save; — 

Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 

And the death-angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave. 

Oh, sailor boy! woe to thy dream of delight! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ; — 
Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright, 

Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss? 

Oh, sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again 

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay ; 

Unbless'd and unhonour'd, down deep in the main 
Full many a score fathom thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge ; 

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding sheet be, 
And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge. 



• 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 227 

On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid, 
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; 

Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, 
And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away, 
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll ; 

Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye — 

Oh, sailor boy! sailor boy ! peace to thy soul ! 



• - 

LESSON CIL 

Rainy Weather. — W. H. Simmons. 

Gracious Rain ! how long wilt thou vouchsafe thyself to 
us, thankless groundlings ? Wilt thou never tire, service- 
• able priestess, of thy great lustrations ? From a thousand 
mountain-torrents, and emerald meads, and imperial rivers 
— from those pleasant homes of thine, the great lakes of 
the wilderness — from thy palace of Ocean — painfully art 
thou ever ascending — suffering the intolerable sun-stroke, 
and expanding to bodiless vapour that thou mayest climb 
the air, and re-gather thy weary atoms — not to sail off, in . 
thy gorgeous cloud-squadron, to a better world, or to live 
in soft dalliance forever with the blue heaven and the silver 
star — but to hang anxiously over our unworthy heads, and 
descend seasonably upon city or field, without a murmur, 
from thy hard-earned elevation. 

Ay ! and during that aerial watch of thine, heavenly bene- 
factress ! while thou art waiting to be gracious — temper- 
ing the meridian and unutterably decorating sunset and the 
dawn — art thou not exposed to the rude and wanton winds, 
who rend thy skirts, and hurry thee shivering about the in- 
hospitable skies % And dost thou not entertain, perforce, 
the lightning — fearful guest ! — deafened with his mon- 
strous music, the thunder-peal, and scorched and riven with 
his fierce love % Yet wherefore that toilsome ascent — that 
dread sojourn — but to descend at last, purified by the sub- 
lime ordeal, in beneficent cadence, upon an oft ungrateful 
world? Oh! our offence is rank! One heart, at least, 
g6 



228 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

hereafter shall humbly and thankfully welcome thee, when- 
ever thou fallest " sweet rain from heaven, upon the place 
beneath." Whether in the genial infusion of thy fitful 
April favours, or in the copious and renovating magnifi- 
cence of the summer shower, or under thy heavy equinoc- 
tial dominion, or in the loud, black storm — wintry or au- 
tumnal ; welcome — ever welcome — in all thy seasons and 
in all thy moods ! 

For in none, fair minister, art thou not benignant ; in 
the least amiable of them, most singularly dost thou deserve 
our love. Well would it please thee, doubtless, to usher 
in perpetual May-mornings with a soft suffusion — to fall 
never but when fanned by zephyrs and the sweetest south- 
west — or from the breathless skies of June, when a verdant 
world pants for thy bountiful down-coming S And do we 
upbraid thee, in our heartless stupidity, because, rather 
than withhold thy life-giving dispensations, thou allayest 
thy gentle nature with thy opposites, and comest in unwel- 
come company — in chilly league with Eurus, or riding on 
the stormy wings of night-confounding Aquilo — subduing 
him to thy soft purpose, and charming away his rage — da- 
ring all things, so thou mayst reach and nourish the bosom 
of thine ancient Mother ? Pious child — dear invader — for- 
give us ! 



LESSON cm. 

Hannibal to His Soldiers. — Livy. 

On what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold all full 
of courage and strength ; a veteran infantry, a most gal- 
lant cavalry; you, my allies, most faithful and valiant; 
you, Carthaginians, whom not only your country's cause, 
but the justest anger, impels to battle. The hope, the 
courage of assailants, is always greater than of those who 
act upon the defensive. With hostile banners displayed, 
you are come down upon Italy ; you bring the war. — Grief, 
injuries, indignities, fire your minds, and spur you forward 
to revenge. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 229 

First, they demand me — that, I, your general, should be 
delivered up to them ; next, all of you who had fought at 
the siege of Saguntum ; and we were to be put to death by 
the extremest tortures. Proud and cruel nation ! every 
thing must be yours, and at your disposal ! You are to 
prescribe to us with whom we shall make war, with whom 
we shall make peace ! You are to set us bounds ; to shut 
us up within hills and rivers ; but you— you are not to ob- 
serve the limits which yourselves have fixed. 

Pass not the Iberus. What next 1 Touch not the Sa- 
gun tines ; is Saguntum upon the Iberus % move not a step 
towards that city. Is it a small matter, then, that you have 
deprived us of our ancient possessions, Sicily and Sardinia? 
you would have Spain too ? Well, we shall yield Spain ; 
and then — you will pass into Africa ! Will pass, did I say ? 
— -this very year they ordered one of their consuls into Af- 
rica, the other into Spain. 

No, soldiers, there is nothing left for us but what we can 
vindicate with our swords. Come on, then — be men. — 
The Romans may with iftore safety be cowards ; they have 
their own country behind them, have places of refuge to 
flee to, and are secure from danger in the roads thither; 
but for you, there is no middle fortune between death and 
victory. Let this be but w T ell fixed in your minds, and 
once again, I say, you are conquerors. 



LESSON CIV. 
Marco Bozzaris,~~ Halleck. 

At 1 midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power : 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror : 

In dreams his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet-ring; 
Then press'd that monarch's throne — a king; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden-bird. 



230 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 
True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 
There had the Persian's thousands stood, 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood 

On old Plataea's day ; 
And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquer'd there, 
With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far as they. 

An hour pass'd on — the Turk awoke ; 

That bright dream was his last ; 
He woke — to hear his sentries shriek, 
" To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek V 9 
He woke — to die midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 
" Strike — till the last arm'd foe expires ; 
Strike — for your altars and your fires ; 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires ; 

God — and your native land ! 

They fought — like brave men, long and well ; 
They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquer'd — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah, 

And the red field was won : 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 
Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 

Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 
Even in her own proud clime ! 



PIECES FOR READING ANT) DECLAMATION. 231 

LESSON CV. 

Hymn to the Stars. — Anonymous. 

Ay ! there ye shine, and there have shone 

In one eternal hour of prime ; 
Each rolling, burningly, alone, 

Through boundless space and countless time ! 
Ay ! there ye shine ! the golden dews 

That pave the realms by seraphs trod ; 
There, through yon echoing vault diffuse 

The song of choral worlds to God. 

Ye visible spirits ! bright as erst 

Young Eden's birth-night saw ye shine 
On all her flowers and fountains first, 

Yet sparkling from the hand divine, — 
Yes ! bright as when ye smiled to catch 

The music of a sphere so fair, 
Ye hold your high immortal watch, 

And gird your God's pavilion there ! 

Gold frets to dust — yet there ye are : 

Time rots the diamond — there ye roll 
In primal light, as if each star 

Enshrined an everlasting soul ! 
And do they not % Since yon bright throngs 

One all-enlightened Spirit own, 
Praised there by pure sidereal tongues, 

Eternal, glorious, blest, and lone ] 

Could man but see what ye have seen, 

Unfold awhile the shrouded past, 
From all that is, to what has been — 

The glance how rich, the range how vast ! 
The birth of time ; the rise, the fall 

Of empires ; myriads, ages flown ; 
Thrones, cities, tongues, arts, worships, all 

The things whose echoes are not gone ! 

Ye saw red Zoroaster send 

His soul into your mystic reign : 
Ye saw the adoring Sabian bend, 

The living hills his mighty fane ; 



232 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Beneath this blue and beaming sky, 
He worshipped at your lofty shrine, 

And deemed he saw with gifted eye, 
The Godhead in his works divine. 

And there ye shine, as if to mock 

The children of an earthly sire : 
The storm, the bolt, the earthquake's shock, 

The red volcano's cataract fire ; 
Drought, famine, pjpgue, and blood, and flame, 

All nature's ills, and life's worst woes, 
Are nought to you ; ye smile the same, 

And scorn alike their dawn and close. 

Ay ! there ye roll, emblems sublime 

Of him whose spirit o'er us moves, 
Beyond the clouds of grief and crime 

Still shining on the world he loves. 
Nor is one scene to mortals given 

That more divides the soul and sod, 
Than yon proud heraldry of heaven, 

Yon burning blazonry of God ! 



LESSON CVL 

The Passions. — Collins. 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung, 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Throng'd around her magic cell ; 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting. 
By turns, they felt the glowing mind 
Disturb'd, delignted, raised, refined : 
Till once, Jtis said, when all were fired, 
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired, 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatch' d her instruments of sound ; 
And, as they oft had heard apart, 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
Each — for Madness ruled the hour — 
Would prove his own expressive power. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 233 

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 

Amid the chords bewilder' d laid ; 
And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 

Even at the sound himself had made. 

Next, Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, 
In lightnings own'd his secret stings : 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 

And swept, with hurried hands, the strings. 

With woful measures, wan Despair — 
Low sullen sounds ! — his grief beguiled ; 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 

'Twas sad, by fits — by starts, 'twas wild. 

But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, 
What was thy delighted measure ! 
Still it whisper'd promised pleasure, 
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. 
Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 

She call'd on Echo still through all her song. 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. 

And longer had she sung — but with a frown, 

Revenge impatient rose. 
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down ; 

And, with a withering look, 

The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast, so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ; 

And, ever and anon, he beat 

The doubling drum with furious heat. 
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 

Dejected Pity, at his side, 

Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien ; 
While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from 
his head. 

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd ; 
Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 



234« THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd : 

And, now, it courted Love ; now, raving call'd on Hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sat retired ; 

And, from her wild sequester' d seat, 

In notes by distance made more sweet, 
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 
And, dashing soft, from rocks around, 
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound. 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole ; 
Or o'er some ,haunted streams, with fond delay — 

Round a holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace and lonely musing — 
In hollow murmurs died away. 

But, oh, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone ! 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulders flung, 
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air, that' dale and thicket rung ; 
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known ! 

The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, 
Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, 
Peeping from forth their alleys green ; 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; 
And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear 

Last, came Joy's ecstatic trial. 
He, with viny crown advancing, 
First to the lively pipe his hand address'd ; 

But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, 
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 
They would have thought, who heard the strain, 
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, 

Amid the festal-sounding shades, 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing; 
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round — 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound ; 
And he, amid his frolic play, 
As if he would the charming air repay. 
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 235 



LESSON CVIL 

Van Den Bosch persuades Philip Van Artevelde to accept the 
command of Ghent. — Henry Taylor. 

Artevelde. This is a mighty matter, Van den Bosch, 
And much to be revolv'd ere it be answered. 

Van den Bosch. The people shall elect thee with one voice. 
I will ensure the White-Hoods, and the rest 
Will eagerly accept thy nomination, 
So to be rid of some that they like less. 
Thy name is honour' d both of rich and poor, 
For ail are mindful of the glorious rule 
Thy father bore, when Flanders, prosperous then, 
From end to end obey'd him as one town. 

Art. They may remember it — and, Van den Bosch, 
May I not, too, bethink me of the end 
To which this people brought my noble father ? 
They gorged the fruits of his good husbandry, 
Till, drunk with long prosperity, and blind 
With too much fatness, they tore up the root 
From which their common weal had sprung and flourished. 

Van den B. Nay, Master Philip, let the past be past. 

Art. Here on the doorstead of my father's house, 
The blood of his they spilt is seen no more. 
But when I was a child I saw it there ; 
For so long as my widow-mother lived 
Water came never near the sangmine stain. 

o 

She lov'd to show it me, and then with aw r e, — 

But hoarding still the purpose of revenge, 

I heard the tale — which, like a daily prayer 

Repeated, to a rooted feeling grew — 

How long he fought, how falsely came like friends 

The villains Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette, — 

All the base murder of the one by many ! 

Even such a brutal multitude as they 

Who slew my father — yea, who slew their own, 

(For like one had he ruled the parricides,) 

Even such a multitude thou'dst have me govern. 

Van den B. Why, what if Jacques Artevelde was killed] 
He had his reign, and that for many a year, 



236 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

And a great glory did he gain thereby. 

And as for Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette, 

Their breath is in their nostrils as was his. 

If you be as stout-hearted as your father, 

And mindful of the villainous trick they play'd him, 

Their hour of reckoning is well nigh come. 

Of that, and of this base false-hearted league 

They're making with the earl, these two to us 

Shall give account. 

Art. They cannot render back 
The golden bowl that's broken at the fountain, 
Or mend the wheel that's broken at the cistern, 
Or twist again the silver cord that's loosed. 
Yea, life for life, vile bankrupts as they are, — 
Their worthless lives, for his* of countless price, — 
Is their whole wherewithal to pay their debt. 
Yet retribution is a goodly thing, 
And it were well to wring the payment from them 
Even to the utmost drop of their hearts' blood. 

Van den B. Then will I call the people to the square, 
And speak for your election. 

Art. Not so fast. 
Your vessel, Van den Bosch, hath felt the storm : 
She rolls dismasted in an ugly swell, 
And you would make a jury-mast of me, 
Whereon to spread the tatters of your canvass. 
And what am I ? — Why, I am as the oak 
Which stood apart, far down the vale of life, 
Growing retired beneath a quiet sky. 
Wherefore should this be added to the wreck ] 

Van den B. I pray you, speak it in the Burghers' tongue 
I lack the scholarship to talk in tropes. 

Art. The question, to be plain, is briefly this : 
Shall I, who, chary of tranquillity, 
Not busy in this factious city's broils, 
Nor frequent in the market-place, eschew'd 
The even battle, — shall I join the rout ] 

Van den B. Times, are sore changed, I see ; there's none 
in Ghent 
That answers to the name of Artevelde. 
Thy father did not carp nor question thus 
When Ghent invoked his aid. The days have been 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 237 

When not a citizen drew breath in Ghent 
But freely would have died in Freedom's cause. 

Art. The cause, I grant thee, Van den Bosch, is good; 
And were I link'd to earth no otherwise 
But that my whole heart centred in myself, 
I could have toss'd you this poor life to play with, 
Taking no second thought. But as things are, 
I will revolve the matter warily, 
And send thee word betimes of my conclusion. 

Van den B. Betimes it must be, for the White-Hood 
chiefs 
Meet two hours hence, and ere we separate 
Our course must be determined. 

Art. In two hours, 
If I be for you, I will send this ring 
In token I have so resolved. Farewell ! 

Van den B. Philip Van Artevelde, a greater man 
Then ever Ghent beheld, we'll make of thee, 
If thou be bold enough to try this venture. 
God give thee heart to do so. Fare thee well. 

[Exit Van den Bosch. 

Art (after a long pause). Is it vain glory that thus whis- 
pers me, 
That 'tis ignoble to have led my life 
In idle meditations — that the times 
Demand me, that they call my father's name % 
Oh ! what a fiery heart was his ! such souls 
Whose sudden visitations daze the world, 
Vanish like lightning, but they leave behind 
A voice that in the distance far away 
Wakens the slumbering ages. Oh ! my father I 
Thy life is eloquent, and more persuades 
Unto dominion than thy death deters ! 



lesson cvn.. 

Van Artevelde* s Defence of Ms Rebellion. — Henry Taylor* 

You speak of insurrections : bear in mind 
Against what rule my father and myself 



238 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Have been insurgent ; whom did we supplant 1 — • 
There was a time, so ancient records tell, 
There were communities, scarce known by name 
In these degenerate days, but once far-famed, 
Where liberty and justice, hand in hand, > 
Ordered the common weal ; where great men grew 
Up to their natural eminence, and none, 
Saving the wise, just, eloquent, were great ; 
Where power was of God's gift, to whom he gave 
Supremacy of merit, the sole means 
And broad highway to power, that ever then 
Was meritoriously administered, 
Whilst all its instruments from first to last, 
The tools of state for service high or low, 
Were chosen for their aptness to those ends 
Which virtue meditates. 

To shake the ground, 
Deep-founded whereupon this structure stood, 
Was verily a crime ; a treason it was, 
Conspiracies to hatch against this state 
And its free innocence. But now, I ask, 
Where is there on God's earth that polity 
Which it is not, by consequence converse, 
A treason against nature to uphold 1 
Whom may we now call free ? whom great ? whom 

wise ? 
Whom innocent ] — the free are only they, 
Whom power makes free to execute all ills 
Their hearts imagine ; they are only great 
Whose passions nurse them from their cradles up 
In luxury and lewdness, — whom to see 
Is to despise, whose aspects put to scorn 
Their station's eminence ; the wise, they only 
Who wait obscurely till the bolts of heaven 
Shall break upon the land, and give them light 
Whereby to walk ; the innocent, alas ! 
Poor innocency lies where four roads meet, 
A stone upon her head, a stake driven through her, 
For who is innocent that cares to live % 
The hand of power doth press the very life 
Of innocency out ! 

What then remains 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 239 

But in the cause of nature to stand forth, 

And turn this frame of things the right side up ] 

For this the hour is come, the sword is drawn, 

And tell your masters, vainly they resist. 

Nature, that slept beneath their poisonous drugs, 

Is up and stirring, and from north and south, 

From east and west, from England and from France, 

From Grermany, and Flanders, and Navarre, 

Shall stand against them like a beast at bay. 

The blood that they have shed will hide no longer 

In the blood-sloken soil, but cries to heaven. 

Their cruelties and wrongs against the poor 

Shall quicken into swarms of venomous snakes, 

And hiss through all the earth, till o'er the earth, 

That ceases then from hissings and from groans, 

Rises the song — How are the mighty fallen ! 

And by the peasant's hand ! Low lie the proud ! 

And smitten with the weapons of the poor — 

The blacksmith's hammer and the woodman's axe ! 

Their tale is told ; and for that they were rich, 

And robbed the poor ; and for that they were strong, 

And scourged the weak ; and for that they made laws 

Which turned the sweat of labour's brow to blood, — 

For these their sins the nations cast them out. 

These things come to pass 
From small beginnings, because God is just. 



LESSON CIX. 

Character of Columbus. — W. Irving. 

The poetical temperament of Columbus is discernible 
throughout all his writings, and in all his actions. It spread 
a golden and glorious world around him, and tinged every 
thing with its own gorgeous colours. It betrayed him into 
visionary speculations, which subjected him to the sneers 
and cavillings of men of cooler and safer, but more grovel- 
ing minds. Such were the conjectures formed on the 
coast of Pari a, about the form of the earth, and the situa- 
tion of the terrestrial paradise ; about the mines of Ophir, 
in Hispaniola, and of the Aurea Chersonesus, in Veragua ; 



240 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

and such was the heroic scheme of the crusade, for the re- 
covery of the holy sepulchre. It mingled with his religion, 
and filled his mind with solemn and visionary meditations, 
on mystic passages of the scriptures, and the shadowy 
portents of the prophecies. It exalted his office in his 
eyes, and made him conceive himself an agent sent forth 
upon a sublime and awful mission, subject to impulses and 
supernatural visions from the Deity ; such as the voice he 
imagined spoke to him in comfort, amidst the troubles of 
Hispaniola, and in the silence of the night on the disastrous 
coast of Veragua. 

He was decidedly a visionary, but a visionary of an un- 
common and successful kind. The manner in which his 
ardent imagination and mercurial nature were controlled 
by a powerful judgment, and directed by an acute sagaci- 
ty, is the most extraordinary feature in his character. 
Thus governed, his imagination, instead of wasting itself 
in idle soarings, lent wings to his judgment, and bore it 
away to conclusions at which common minds could never 
have arrived ; nay, which they could not perceive when 
pointed out. 

To his intellectual vision it was given, to read in the 
signs of the times, and in the reveries of past ages, the in- 
dications of an unknown world, as soothsayers were said to 
read predictions in the stars, and to foretell events from the 
visions of the night* " His soul," observes- a Spanish wri- 
ter, " was superior to the age in which he lived. For him 
was reserved the great enterprise to plough a sea which 
had given rise to so many fables, and to decipher the mys- 
tery of his time." 

With all the visionary fervour of his imagination, its fond- 
est dreams fell short of the reality. He died in ignorance 
of the real grandeur of his discovery. Until his last breath, 
he entertained the idea, that he had merely opened a new 
way to the old resorts of opulent commerce, and had dis- 
covered some of the wild regions of the east* He suppos- 
ed Hispaniola to be the ancient Ophir, which had been visit- 
ed by the ships of Solomon, and that Cuba and Terra Fir- 
ma, were but remote parts of Asia. 

What visions of glory would have broke upon his mind, 
could he have known that he had indeed discovered a new 
continent, equal to the whole of the old world in magnitude, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 241 

and separated by two vast oceans from all the earth hith- 
erto known by civilized man ! and how would his mag- 
nanimous spirit have been consoled, amidst the chills of 
age, and the cares of penury, the neglect of a fickle public 
and the injustice of an ungrateful king, could he have an- 
ticipated the splendid empires which were to spread over 
the beautiful world he had discovered, and the nations and 
tongues and languages which w T ere to fill its lands with 
his renown, and to revere and bless his name to the latest 
posterity ! 



LESSON CX. 
A Ship under Full Sail. — R. H. Dana, Jr. 

Notwithstanding all that has been said about the 
beauty of a ship under full sail, there are very few who 
have ever seen a ship, literally, under all her sail. A ship 
coming in or going out of port, with her ordinary sails, 
and perhaps two or three studding-sails, is commonly said 
to be under full sail ; but a ship never has all her sail upon 
her, except when she has a light, steady breeze, very 
nearly, but not quite dead aft, and so regular that it can be 
trusted, and is likely to last for some time. Then, with all 
her sails, light and heavy, and studding-sails, on each side, 
alow and aloft, she is the »most glorious moving object in 
the world. Such a sight, very few, even some who have 
been at sea a good deal, have ever beheld ; for from the 
deck of your own vessel you cannot see her, as you would 
a separate object. 

One night, while we were in these tropics, I went out 
to the end of the flying jib-boom, upon some duty, and 
having finished it, turned round, and lay over the boom for 
a long time, admiring the beauty of the sight before me. 
Being so far out from the deck, I could look at the ship, as 
at a separate vessel ; — and there rose up from the water, 
supported only by the small black hull, a pyramid of can- 
vass, spreading out far beyond the hull, and towering up 
almost, as it seemed in the indistinct night air, to the clouds. 

The sea was as still as an inland lake ; the light trade- 



242 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

wind was gently and steadily breathing from astern ; the 
dark blue sky was studded with the tropical stars ; there 
was no sound but the rippling of the water under the 
stem ; and the sails were spread out, wide and high ; — the 
two lower studding-sails stretching, on each side, far be- 
yond the deck ; the top-mast studding sails, like wings to 
the top-sails ; the top-gallant studding-sails spreading fear- 
lessly out above them ; still higher, the two royal studding- 
sails, looking like two kites flying from the same string ; 
and, highest of all, the little sky-sail, the apex of the pyra- 
mid, seeming actually to touch t]ie stars, and to be out of 
reach of human hand. 

So quiet, too, was the sea, and so steady the breeze, that 
if these sails had been sculptured marble, they could not 
have been more motionless. Not a ripple upon the sur- 
face of the canvass ; not even a quivering' of the extreme 
edges of the sail — so perfectly were they distended by the 
breeze ! I was so lost in the sight, that I forgot the pre- 
sence of the man who came out with me, until he said, 
(for he, too, rough old man-of-war's-man as he was, had 
been gazing at the show,) half to himself, still looking at 
the marble sails — " How quietly they do their work !" 



LESSON CXI. 

From his Inaugural Address on 'Entering upon the Presi- 
dency of the United States. — Jefferson. 

During the contest of opinion through which we have 
passed, the animation of discussions and of exertions, has 
sometimes worn an aspect which might impose on stran- 
gers unused to think freely, and to speak and to write 
what they think ; but this being now decided by the voice 
of the nation, announced according to the rules of the con- 
stitution, all will of course arrange themselves under the 
will of the law, and unite in common efforts for the com- 
mon good. All too will bear in mind this sacred princi- 
ple, that though the will of the majority is in all cases to 
prevail, that will, to be rightful, must be reasonable ; that 
the minority possess their equal rights, which equal laws 
must protect, and to violate which would be oppression. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 243 

Let us then, fellow-citizens, unite with one heart and 
one mind, let us restore to social intercourse, that harmony 
and affection, without which liberty, and even life itself, 
are but dreary things. And let us reflect, that having 
banished from our land that religious intolerance under 
which mankind so long bled and suffered, we have yet 
gained little, if we countenance a political intolerance, as 
despotic, as wicked, and capable of as bitter and bloody 
persecutions. 

During the throes and convulsions of the ancient world, 
during the agonizing spasms of infuriated man, seeking 
through blood and slaughter his long lost liberty, it was 
not wonderful that the agitation of the billows should reach 
even this distant and peaceful shore ; that this should be 
more felt and feared by some, and less by others; and 
should divide opinions as to measures of safety ; but every 
difference of opinion is not a difference of principle. 

We have called by different names brethren of the same 
principle. We are all republicans : we are all federal- 
ists. If there be any among us who would wish to dis- 
solve this Union, or to change its republican form, let 
them stand undisturbed as monuments of the safety with 
which error of opinion may be tolerated, where reason is 
left free to combat it. I know, indeed, that some honest 
men fear that a republican government cannot be strong ; 
that this government is not strong enough. 

But would the honest patriot, in the full tide of success- 
ful experiment, abandon a government which has so far 
kept us free and firm, on the theoretic and visionary fear, 
that this government, the world's best hope, may, by pos- 
sibility, want energy to preserve itself ! I trust not. 

I believe this, on the contrary, the strongest government 
on earth. I believe it the only one where every man, at 
the call of the law, would fly to the standard of the law, 
and would meet invasions of the public order as his own 
personal concern. Sometimes it is said, that man cannot 
be trusted with the government of himself. Can he then 
be trusted with the government of others 1 Or, have we 
found angels in the form of kings, to govern him ] Let 
history answer this question. 

About to enter, fellow-citizens, on the exercise of duties 
which comprehend every thing dear and valuable to you, 



244- THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

it is proper you should understand what I deem the essen- 
tial principles of our government, and consequently, those 
which ought to shape its administration. I will compress 
them within the narrowest compass they w T ill bear, stating 
the general principles, but not all their limitations : — 

Equal and exact justice to all men, of whatever state 
or persuasion, religious or political : peace, commerce, and 
honest friendship with all nations, entangling alliances 
with none : the support of the state governments in all 
their rights, as the most competent administrations for our 
domestic concerns, and the surest bulwarks against anti- 
republican tendencies : the preservation of the general 
government in its whole constitutional vigour, as the sheet 
anchor of our peace at home and safety abroad : a jealous 
care of the right of election by the people : a mild and 
safe corrective of abuses, which are lopped by the sword 
of revolution where peaceable remedies are unprovided : 
absolute acquiescence in the decisions of the majority, the 
vital principle of republics, from which there is no appeal 
but to force, the vital principle and immediate parent of 
despotism : a well disciplined militia, our best reliance in 
peace, and for the first moments of war, till regulars may 
relieve them : the supremacy of the civil over the milita- 
ry authority : economy in the public expense, that labour 
may be lightly burdened : the honest payment of our debts 
and sacred preservation of the public faith : encourage- 
ment of agriculture, and of commerce as its hand-maid : 
the diffusion of information, and arraignment of all abuses 
at the bar of the public reason : freedom of religion ; free- 
dom of the press ; and freedom of person, under the pro- 
tection of the habeas corpus : and trial by juries impartially 
selected. 

These principles form the bright constellation, which 
has gone before us, and guided our steps through an age 
of revolution and reformation. The wisdom of our sages, 
and blood of our heroes, have been devoted to their 
attainment : they should be the creed of our political 
faith, the text of civic instruction, the touchstone by which 
to try the services of those we trust ; and should we wan- 
der from them in moments of error or of alarm, let us 
hasten to retrace our steps, and to regain the road which 
alone leads to peace, liberty and safety. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 245 



LESSON CXII. 

Repudiation of the Charge of French Influence during the 
WaroflS12.—H. Clay. 

The, administration of this country devoted to foreign in- 
fluence ! Great Heavens ! What a charge ! How is it 
so influenced ? By what ligament, on what basis, on what 
possible foundation does it rest ? Is it similarity of lan- 
guage ? No ! we speak different tongues — we speak the 
English language. On the resemblance of our laws ? No ! 
the sources of our jurisprudence spring from another and 
a different country. On commercial intercourse ? No ! 
we have comparatively none with France. Is it from the 
correspondence in the genius of the two governments % 
No ! here alone is the liberty of man secure from the in- 
exorable despotism which everywhere else tramples it un- 
der foot. 

Where, then, is the ground of such an influence ? But, 
sir, I am insulting you by arguing on such a subject. Yet, 
preposterous and ridiculous as the insinuation is, it is pro- 
pagated with so much industry, that there are persons 
found foolish and credulous enough to believe it. You 
will, no doubt, think it incredible (but I have nevertheless 
been told it is a fact), that an honourable member of this 
house, now in my eye, recently lost his election by the cir- 
culation of a silly story in his district, that he was the first 
cousin of the Emperor Napoleon. The proof of the charge 
rested on the statement of facts, which were undoubtedly 
true. The gentleman in question, it was alleged, had mar- 
ried a connection of the lady of the President of the Uni- 
ted States, who was the intimate friend of Thomas Jeffer- 
son, late President of the United States, who some years 
ago was in the habit of wearing red French breeches. 
Now, taking these premises as established, you, Mr. Chair- 
man, are too good a logician not to see that the conclusion 
necessarily follows ! 

Throughout the period I have been speaking of, the op- 
position has been distinguished, amidst all its veerings and 
changes, by another inflexible feature— the application tfc 



246 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Bonaparte of every vile and opprobrious epithet, which 
our language, copious as it is in terms of vituperation, af- 
fords. He has been compared to every hideous monster 
and beast, from that mentioned in the Revelation, down to 
the most insignificant quadruped. He has been called the 
scourge of mankind, the destroyer of Europe, the great 
robber, the infidel, the modern Attila, and heaven knows 
by what other names. 

Really, gentlemen remind me of an obscure lady, in a 
city not very far off, who also took it into her head, in con- 
versation with an accomplished French gentleman, to talk 
of the affairs of Europe. She too spoke of the destruction 
of the balance of power, stormed and raged about the insa- 
tiable ambition of the emperor ; called him the curse of 
mankind, the destroyer of Europe. The Frenchman lis- 
tened to her with perfect patience, and, when she had ceas- 
ed, said to her with, ineffable politeness, " Madame, it 
would give my master, the emperor, infinite pain, if he 
kn%w how hardly you thought of him." 

Sir, gentlemen appear to me to forget that they stand on 
American soil; that they are not in the British House of 
Commons, but in the chamber of the House of Representa- 
tives of the United States ; that we have nothing to do with 
the affairs of Europe, the partition of territory and sover- 
eignty there, except so far as these things affect the inter- 
ests of our own country. Gentlemen transform themselves 
into the Burkes, Chathams, and Pitts of another country, 
and forgetting, from honest zeal, the interests of America, 
engage with European sensibility in the discussion of 
European interests. If gentlemen ask me whether I do 
not viiew with regret and horror the concentration of such 
vast power in the hands of Bonaparte, I reply that I do. 
I regret to see the emperor of China holding such im- 
mense sway over the fortunes of millions of our species. I 
regret to see Great Britain possessing so uncontrolled a 
command over all the waters of our globe. 

If I had the ability to distribute among the nations of 
Europe their several portions of power and sovereignty, 
I would say that Holland should be resuscitated, and given 
the weight she enjoyed in the days of her De Witts. I 
would confine France within her natural boundaries, the 
$.lps, Pyrenees, and the Rhine, and make her a secondary 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 247 

naval power only. I would abridge the British maritime 
power, raise Prussia and Austin a to their original condi- 
tion, and preserve the integrity of the empire of Russia. 

But these are speculations. I look at the political trans- 
actions of Europe, with the single exception of their possi- 
ble bearing upon us, as I do at the history of other coun- 
tries, or other times. I do not survey them with half the 
interest that I do the movements in South America. Our 
political relations with them are much less important than 
they are supposed to be. I have no fears of French or 
of English subjugation. If we are united, we are too pow- 
erful for the mightiest nation in Europe, or all Europe 
combined. If we are separated and torn asunder, we 
shall become an easy prey to the weakest of them. In the 
latter dreadful contingency, our country will not be worth 
preserving. 



LESSON CXIII. 
Indifference to Popular Elections, — G-. Mc Duffie. 

We have been frequently told, that the farmer should 
attend to the plough, and the mechanic to his handicraft, 
during the canvass for the presidency. Sir, a more dan- 
gerous doctrine could not be inculcated. If there is any 
spectacle from the contemplation of which I would shrink 
with peculiar horror, it would be that of the great mass of 
the American people, sunk into a profound apathy on the 
subject of their highest political interests. Such a specta- 
cle would be more portentous to the eye of intelligent pa- 
triotism, than all the monsters of the earth, and fiery signs 
of the heavens, to the eye of trembling superstition, if 
the people could be indifferent to the fate of a contest for 
the presidency, they would be unworthy of freedom. If I 
were to perceive them sinking into this apathy, I would 
even apply the power of political galvanism, if such a pow- 
er could be found, to rouse them from their fatal lethargy. 

" Keep the people quiet ! Peace ! peace !" Such are 
the whispers by which the people are to be lulled to sleep 
in the very crisis of their highest concerns. Sir, " yov 



248 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

make a solitude, and call it peace !" Peace 1 'Tis death ! 
Take away all interest from the people, in the election of 
their chief ruler, and liberty is no more. What, sir, is to 
be the consequence ? If the people do not elect the Pre- 
sident, somebody must. There is no special providence to 
decide the question. Who, then, is to make the election, 
and how will it operate f You throw a general paralysis 
over the body politic, and excite a morbid action in par- 
ticular members. 

The general patriotic excitement of the people, in rela- 
tion to the election of the President, is as essential to the 
health and energy of the political system, as circulation of 
the blood is to the health and energy of the natural body. 
Check that circulation, and you inevitably produce local 
inflammation, gangrene, and ultimately death. Make the 
people indifferent — destroy their legitimate influence, and 
you communicate a morbid violence to the efforts of those 
who are ever ready to assume the control of such affairs 
— the mercenary intriguers and interested office hunters 
of the country. 

Tell me not, sir, of popular violence ! Show me a hun- 
dred political factionists — men who look to the election of 
a President, as a means of gratifying their high or their 
low ambition — and I will show you the very materials for 
a mob, ready for any desperate adventure connected with 
their common fortunes. The reason of this extraordinary 
excitement is obvious. It is a matter of self-interest, of 
personal ambition. The people can have no such motives ; 
they look only to the interest and glory of the country. 

There was a law of Athens which subjected every citi- 
zen to punishment, who refused to take sides in the poli- 
tical parties which divided the republic. It was founded 
in the deepest wisdom. In political affairs, the vicious, 
the ambitious, and the interested, are always active. It is 
the natural tendency of virtue, confiding in the strength of 
its own cause, to be inactive. It hence results, that the 
ambitious few will inevitably acquire the ascendancy, in 
the conduct of human affairs, if the patriotic many, the 
people, are not stimulated and roused to a proper activity 
and effort. 

Sir, no nation on earth has ever exerted so extensive an 
influence on human affairs, as this will certainly exercise, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 249 

if we preserve our glorious system of government inks pu- 
rity. The liberty of this country is a sacred depository 
— a vestal fire, which Providence has committed to us for 
the general benefit of mankind. It is the world's last 
hope. Extinguish it, and the earth will be covered with 
eternal darkness. But once put out that fire, and I " know 
not where is the Promethean heat, which can that light 
relume." 



LESSON CXIV. 

Brutus on the Death of Ccesar. — Shakspeare. 

Romans, Countrymen, and Lovers ! — hear me for my 
cause ; and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for 
mine honour ; and have respect to mine honour, that you 
may believe. Censure me in your wisdom ; and awake 
your senses, that you may the better judge. — If there be 
any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him 
I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. 
If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cae- 
sar, this is my answer : not that I loved Caesar less, but 
that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were 
living, and die all slaves ; than that Caesar were dead, to 
live all freemen 1 — As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; 
as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I 
honour him : but as he was ambitious, I slew him ! There 
are tears, for his love, joy for his fortune, honour for his 
valour, and death for his ambition ! — Who's here so base, 
that would be a bondman 1 if any, speak ! for him have 
I offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a 
Roman ? if any, speak ! for him have I offended. Who's 
here so vile, that will not love his country % if any, speak ! 
for him have I offended.— I pause for a reply. — 

None ? then 'none have I offended ! I have done no 
more to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. The ques- 
tion of his death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his glory not 
extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offences en- 
forced, for which he suffered death. 

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony ; who, 
though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the ben- 



250 



THE ELOCUTIONIST. 



"fit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth ; as, which 
of you shall not ? With this I depart — that as 1 slew my 
best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for 
myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. 



-♦— 



LESSON CXV. 

Mark Antony's Oration. — Ib. 

Friendo, Romans, Countrymen ! lend me your ears. 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do, lives after them ; 
The good is oft interred with their bones : 
So let it be with Caesar ! — Noble Brutus 
Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious — 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
And grievously hath Caesar answered it ! 
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest — 
For Brutus is an honourable man ! 
So are they all ! all honourable men — 
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me — 
But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And Brutus is an honourable man ! 
He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept. 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff! — 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And Brutus is an honourable man ! 
You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
Which he did thrice refuse : was this ambition ? — 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And sure he is an honourable man ! 
I speak, not to disprove what Brutus spoke ; 
But here I am to speak what I do know. 
You all did love him once ; not without cause : 
What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him 1 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 251 

O judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me : 
My heart is in the cofhn there with Caesar ; 
And I must pause till it come back to me. 
But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 
Have stood against the world — now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence ! 

masters ! if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honourable men ! — 

I will not do them wrong : I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, 

Than I will wrong such honourable men ! — 

But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar — 

I found it in his closet — 'tis his will ! 

Let but the commons hear this testament — 

Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read — 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 

And, dying, mention it within their wills, 

Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 

Unto their issue ! 

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now, 
You all do know this mantle ? I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on : 
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent — 
That day he overcame the Nervii !- 



Look ! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through : 

See what a rent the envious Casca made ! — 

Through this — the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ! 

And, as he pluck' d his cursed steel away, 

Mark how the blood of Caesar follow' d it ! 

As, rushing out of doors, to be resolved 

If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 

For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel ! 

Judge, O ye G-ods, how dearly Caesar loved him ! 

This, this was the unkindest cut of all ! 

For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 

Quite vanquish' d him. Then burst his mighty heart ! 

And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 



252 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Even at the base of Pompey's statue — 

Which all the while ran blood ! — great Caesar fell ! 

Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 

Then I, and you, and "all of us, fell down ; 

Whilst bloody treason flourish' d over us ! 

Oh, now you weep, and I perceive you feel 

The dint of pity : these are gracious drops ! 

Kind souls ! what ! weep you when you but behold 

Our Caesar's vesture wounded % — look you here ! 

Here is himself — marr'd, as you see, by traitors !- 



Good friends ! sweet friends ! let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny ! 
They that have done this deed, are honourable ! — 
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
That made them do it : they are wise and honourable, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, 
That loves his friend — and that they know full well, 
That gave me public leave to speak of him — 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on. 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb 

mouths ! 
And bid them speak for me. But, w T ere I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny ! 



LESSON CXVL 

On Increasing the Army, preparatory to the "War of 1812. — 
J. C. Calhoun. 

Sir, I think a regular force, raised for a period of ac- 
tual hostilities, cannot be called a standing army. There 
is a just distinction between such a force and one raised 



m PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 253 

as a peace establishment. Whatever may be the compo- 
sition of the latter, I hope the former will consist of some 
of the best materials of the country. The ardent patriot- 
ism of our young men, and the reasonable bounty in land, 
which is proposed to be given, will impel them to join 
their country's standard and to fight her battles ; they will 
not forget the citizen in the soldier, and, in obeying their 
officer, learn to contemn their constitution. 

In our officers and soldiers we will find patriotism no less 
pure and ardent than in the private citizen ; but if they 
should be depraved, as represented, what have we to fear 
from twenty-five or thirty thousand regulars ? Where will 
be the boasted militia of the gentleman ] Can one mil- 
lion of militia be overpowered by thirty thousand regulars ? 
If so, how can we rely on them against a foe invading our 
country 1 Sir, I have no such contemptuous idea of our 
militia ; their untaught bravery is sufficient to crush all 
foreign and internal attempts on their country's liberties. 

But we have not yet come to the end of the chapter of 
dangers. The gentleman's imagination, so fruitful on this 
subject, conceives that our constitution is not calculated 
for war, and that it cannot stand its rude shock. This is 
rather extraordinary : we must then depend upon the pity 
or contempt of other nations, for our existence 1 The 
constitution, it seems, has failed in its essential part, " to 
provide for the common defence." No, says the gentle- 
man from Virginia, it is competent for a defensive, but 
not an offensive war. 

It is not necessary for me to expose the error of this 
opinion. Why make the distinction in this instance % 
Will he pretend to say, that this is an offensive war ; a 
war of conquest ? Yes, the gentleman has dared to make 
this assertion, and for reasons no less extraordinary than 
the assertion itself. He says our rights are violated on 
the ocean, and that these violations affect our shipping 
and commercial rights, to which the Canadas have no re- 
lation. The doctrine of retaliation has been much abused 
of late by an unnatural extension ; we are now to witness 
a new abuse. The gentleman from Virginia has limited 
it down to a point. By his system, if you receive a blow 
on the breast, you dare not return it on the head ; you are 
obliged to measure and return it on the precise point on 

H 



254- THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

which it was received. If you do not proceed with this 
mathematical accuracy, it ceases to be just self-defence ; 
it becomes an unprovoked attack. 

The gentleman is at a loss to account for, what he calls, 
our hatred to England. He asks, how can we hate the 
country of Locke, of Newton, Hampden and Chatham ; 
a country having the same language and customs with our- 
selves, and descending from a common ancestry. Sir, the 
laws of human affections are uniform. If we have so 
much to attach us to that country, powerful, indeed, must 
be the cause which has overpowered it. 

Yes, sir, there is a cause strong enough : not that 
occult, courtly affection, which he has supposed to be en- 
tertained for France ; but it is to be found in continued 
and unprovoked insult and injury : — a cause so manifest, 
that the gentleman from Virginia had to exert much inge- 
nuity to overlook it. But, sir, here I think the gentleman, 
in his eager admiration of England, has not been suffi- 
ciently guarded in his argument. Has he reflected on the 
cause of that admiration ] Has he examined the reasons 
of our high regard for her Chatham ? It is his ardent pa- 
triotism ; the heroic courage of his mind, that could not 
brook the least insult or injury offered to his country, but 
thought that her interest and honour ought to be vindicated 
at every hazard and expense ! I hope, when we are called 
on to admire, we shall also be asked to imitate. I hope 
the gentleman does not wish a monopoly of those great 
virtues to remain with that nation ! 



LESSON CXVII. 
The Antiquity of Freedom. — Bryant. 

Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines, 
That stream with gray-green mosses ; here the ground 
Was never touch'd by spades, and flowers spring up 
Unsown, and die ungather'd. It is sweet 
To linger here, among the flitting birds 
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds 
That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 255 

A fragrance from the cedars thickly set 

With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades — 

Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old — 

My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, 

Back to the earliest days of Liberty. 

O Freedom ! thou art not, as poets dream, 
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, 
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap 
With which the Roman master crown'd his slave, 
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, 
Arm'd to the teeth, art thou : one mailed hand 
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow, 
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarr'd 
With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs 
Are strong and struggling. Power at thee has launch'd 
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee ; — 
They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. 
Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep, 
And his swart armourers, by a thousand fires, 
Have forged thy chain ; yet, while he deems thee bound, 
The links are shiver' d, and the prison walls 
Fall outward ; terribly thou springest forth, 
As springs the flame above a burning pile, 
And shoutest to the nations, who return 
Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. 

Thy birth-right was not given by human hands : 
Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields, 
While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, 
To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, 
And teach the reed to utter simple airs. 
Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, 
Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, 
Thine only foes : and thou with him didst draw 
The earliest furrows on the mountain side, 
Soft with the Deluge. Tyranny himself, 
Thy enemy, although of reverend look, 
Hoary with many years, and far obey'd, 
Is later born than thou ; and as he meets 
The grave defiance of thine elder eye, 
The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. 

Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, 
But he shall fade into a feebler age ; 
h2 



256 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares, 

And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap 

His wither'd hands, and from their ambush call 

His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send 

Quaint maskers, forms of fair and gallant mien, 

To catch thy gaze, and, uttering graceful words, 

To charm thy ear ; while his sly imps, by stealth, 

Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread, 

That grow to fetters ; or bind down thy arms 

"With chains conceal'd in chaplets. Oh ! not yet 

May' st thou unbrace thy corslet, or lay by 

Thy sword ! nor yet, O Freedom ! close thy lids 

In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps ; 

And thou must watch and combat, till the day 

Of the new Earth and Heaven. But would'st thou rest 

A while from tumult and the frauds of men, 

These old and friendly solitudes invite 

Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees 

Were young upon the inviolated Earth, 

And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new, 

Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. 



LESSON CXVIII. 

Charade on the Name of the Poet Campbell. — W. M. Praed. 

Come from my First, ay, come ! 

The battle dawn is nigh : 
And the screaming trump and the thund'ring drum 

Are calling thee to die ! 
Fight as thy father fought, 

Fall as thy father fell — 
Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought : 

So forward ! and farewell ! 

Toll ye, my Second ! toll ! 

Fling high the flambeau's light, 
And sing the hymn of a parted soul, 

Beneath the silent night ! 
The wreath upon his head, 

The cross upon his breast, — 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 257 

Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed : 
So — take him to his rest ! 

Call ye my Whole, ay, call 

The lord of lute, and lay ! 
And let him greet the sable pall 

With a noble song to-day : 
Go, call him by his name, 

No fitter hand may crave, 
To light the flame of a soldier's fame, 

On the turf of a soldier's grave ! 



LESSON CXIX. 

Confidence in God. — Addison. 

How are thy servants bless' d, O Lord ! 

How sure is their defence ! 
Eternal wisdom is their guide, 

Their help — omnipotence. 

In foreign realms, and lands remote, 

Supported by thy care, 
Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt 

And breathed in tainted air. 

Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil, 

Made every region please ; 
The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd, 

And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas. 

Think, O my soul ! devoutly think, 

How, with affrighted eyes, 
Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep 

In all its horrors rise ! 

Confusion dwelt in every face, 

And fear in every heart, 
When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs, 

O'ercame the pilot's art ! 
h3 



258 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Yet then, from all my griefs, O Lord ! 

Thy mercy set me free : 
While, in the confidence of prayer, 

My soul took hold on thee. 

For though in dreadful whirls we hung 
High on the broken wave, 

I knew thou wert not slow to hear, 
Nor impotent to save. 

The storm was laid, the winds retired, 

Obedient to thy will ; 
The sea that roar'd at thy command, 

At thy command was still. 

In midst of dangers, fears, and deaths, 

Thy goodness I'll adore ; 
And praise thee for thy mercies past, 

And humbly hope for more. 

My life- — if thou preserve my life — 
Thy sacrifice shall be ; 

And death — if death must be my doom- 
Shall join my soul to thee. 



LESSON CXX. 
To One in Affliction. — J. Montgomery, 

Lift up thine eyes, afflicted soul ! 

From earth lift up thine eyes, 
Though dark the evening shadows roll, 

And daylight beauty dies ; 
One sun is set — a thousand more 

Their rounds of glory run, 
Where science leads thee to explore 

In every star a sun. 

Thus when some long-loved comfort ends, 

And nature would despair, 
Faith to the heaven of heaven ascends, 

And meets ten thousand there ; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 259 

First faint and small, then clear and bright, 

They gladden all the gloom, 
And stars that seem but points of light, 

The rank of suns assume. 



LESSON CXXI. 

Exhortation against Subjection to Foreign Influence. — Geo. 
Washington. 

Against the insidious wiles of foreign influence, (I con- 
jure you to believe me, fellow-citizens,) the jealousy of a 
free people ought to be constantly awake ; since history 
and experience prove, that foreign influence is one of the 
most baneful foes of republican government. But that 
jealousy, to be useful, must be impartial ; else it becomes 
the instrument of the very influence to be avoided, instead 
of a defence against it. Excessive partiality for one for- 
eign nation, and excessive dislike of another, cause those 
whom they actuate, to see danger only on one side ; and 
serve to veil and even second the arts of influence on the 
other. Real patriots, who may resist the intrigues of the 
favourite, are liable to become suspected and odious; 
while its tools and dupes usurp the applause and confi- 
dence of the people, to surrender their interests. 

The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign 
nations is, in extending our commercial relations, to have 
with them as little political connection as possible. So far 
as we have already formed engagements, let them be ful- 
filled with perfect good faith. Here let us stop. 

Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have 
none, or a very remote relation. Hence she must be en- 
gaged in frequent controversies, the causes of which are 
essentially foreign to our concerns. Hence, therefore, it 
must be unwise in us to implicate ourselves, by artificial 
ties, in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics, or the or- 
dinary combinations and collisions of her friendships or, 
enmities. 

Our detached and distant situation invites and enables 
us to pursue a different course. If we remain one people, 
H4 



260 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

under an efficient government, the period is not far off, 
when we may defy material injury from external annoy- 
ance ; when we may take such an attitude as will cause 
the neutrality we may at any time resolve upon, to be 
scrupulously respected; when belligerent nations, under 
the impossibility of making acquisitions upon us, will not 
lightly hazard the giving us provocation ; when we may 
choose peace or war, as our interest, guided by justice, 
shall counsel. 

Why forego the advantages of so peculiar a situation ] 
Why quit our own, to stand upon foreign ground 1 Why, 
by interweaving our destiny with that of any part of 
Europe, entangle our peace and prosperity in the toils of 
European ambition, rivalship, interest, humour, or caprice ? 



LESSON CXXIL 
Ada7ns and Jefferson. — W. Wirt. 

Jefferson and Adams were great men by nature. Not 
great and eccentric minds, " shot madly from their spheres" 
to affright the world and scatter pestilence in their course ; 
but minds whose strong and steady light, restrained within 
their proper orbits by the happy poise of their characters, 
came to cheer and to gladden a world that had been buried 
for ages in political night. They were heaven-called 
avengers of degraded man. They came to lift him to the 
station for which G-od had formed him, and to put to flight 
those idiot superstitions with which tyrants had contrived 
to enthral his reason and his liberty. 

And that Being who had sent them upon this mission, 
had fitted them, pre-eminently, for his glorious work. He 
filled their hearts with a love of country which burned 
strong within them, even in death. He gave them a power 
of understanding which no sophistry could baffle, no art 
elude ; and a moral heroism which no dangers could ap- 
pal. Careless of themselves, reckless of all personal con- 
sequences, trampling under foot that petty ambition of 
office and honour which constitutes the master passion of 
little minds, they bent all their mighty powers to the task 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 281 

for which they had been delegated — the freedom of their 
beloved country, and the restoration of fallen man. 

They felt that they were Apostles of human liberty ; and 
well did they fulfil their high commission. They rested 
not until they had accomplished their work at home, and 
given such an impulse to the great ocean of mind, that 
they saw the waves rolling on to the farthest shore, before 
they were called to their rewards And then they left the 
world, hand in hand, exulting, as they rose, in the success 
of their labours-. 

Adams and Jefferson were born, the first in Massachu- 
setts, on the 19th of October, 1735 ; the last in Virginia, 
on the 2d of April, 1743. On the earliest opening of their 
characters, it was manifest that they were marked for dis- 
tinction. They both displayed that thirst for knowledge, 
that restless spirit of inquiry, that fervid sensibility, and 
that bold, fearless independence of thought, which are 
among the surest prognostics of exalted talent ; and, for- 
tunately for them, as well as for their country and man- 
kind, the Universities in their respective neighbourhoods 
opened to their use all the fountains of ancient and modern 
learning. 

With what appetite they drank at these fountains, we 
need no testimony of witnesses to inform us. The living 
streams which afterwards flowed from their own lips and 
pens, are the best witnesses that can be called, of their 
youthful studies. They were, indeed, of that gifted order 
of minds, to which early instruction is of little other use 
than to inform them of their own powers, and to indicate 
the objects of human knowledge. Education was not 
with them, as with minor characters, an attempt to plant 
new talents and new qualities in a strange and reluctant 
soil. It was the development, merely, of those which 
already existed. 

Thus, the pure and disinterested patriotism of Aristides, 
the firmness of Cato, and the devotion of Curtius, only 
awakened the principles that were sleeping in their young 
hearts, and touched the responding chords with which 
Heaven had attuned them. The statesman-like vigour of 
Pericles, and the spirit-stirring energy of Demosthenes, 
only roused their own lion powers, and informed them of 
their strength. Aristotle, and Bacon, and Sidney, and 
h5 



262 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Locke, could do little more than to disclose to them their 
native capacity for the profound investigation and ascer- 
tainment of truth ; and Newton taught their power to 
range among the stars. In short, every model to which 
they looked, and every great master to whom they ap- 
pealed, only moved into life the scarcely dormant energies 
with which Heaven had endued them ; and they came 
forth from the discipline, not decorated for pomp, but armed 
for battle. 



LESSON CXXIII. 
Anecdote of Napoleon. — Duchess d'Abrantes. 

The Emperor, on arriving at Brienne, made several in- 
quiries after old Mother Margaret : such was the appella- 
tion given to a good wife who occupied a cottage in the 
midst of the forest, to which the pupils of the military 
school had, in days of yore, made frequent excursions 
Napoleon had not forgotten the name, and he learned with 
no less pleasure than surprise, that the good old dame was 
still in existence. Continuing his morning ride, he struck 
into the forest, galloped to the well-known spot, and hav- 
ing dismounted, unceremoniously entered the cottage. 
Age had somewhat impaired the old woman's sight, and 
the Emperor's person was much changed. 

" Good morning, Mother Margaret," said Napoleon, 
saluting his hostess ; "it seems you have no curiosity to 
see the Emperor V 

" Yes, but I have ; I should like of all things to see him, 
and I intend to take that basket of fresh eggs to Madame 
de Brienne, that I may be invited to remain at the chateau, 
and so catch a glimpse of the Emperor. Ah! I shall not 
see him so well to-day as formerly, when he used to accom- 
pany his comrades to old Mother Margaret's and call for a 
bowl of new milk. To be sure, he was not Emperor then, 
but no matter ; the rest marched before him. He always 
made them pay me for my milk, eggs, brown bread, and 
broken crockery, and commenced by paying his own share 
of the reckoning." 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 263 

" Then," replied Napoleon, with a smile, " you have not 
forgotten Bonaparte !" 

" Forgotten him ! Do you think one could forget such 
a steady, serious, melancholy-like, young gentleman, so 
considerate too for the poor ? I am a weak old woman, 
but I always foretold that the lad would turn out well. ,, 

" Why, yes ; he has made his way." 

At the commencement of this short dialogue, the Em- 
peror had turned his back to the door, and consequently to 
the light ; the narrow entrance thus blocked up, the interior 
of the cottage was left in darkness. By degrees, however, 
he approached the old woman, and the light again pene- 
trated from without. The Emperor, upon this, rubbing 
his hands together, and assuming the tone and manners of his 
early youth — " Come, Mother Margaret," said he, "bestir 
yourself — some milk and fresh eggs ; I am half dead with 
hunger." 

Margaret stared at her visitor, and seemed as though en- 
deavouring to recall her buried recollections. 

" Ha, ha !" said the Emperor, laughing ; " how positive 
you were just now that you had not forgotten Bonaparte ! 
we are old acquaintances, dame !" 

Meanwhile, old Margaret had fallen at the Emperor's 
feet. 

Raising her with unaifected kindness, — "Have you 
nothing to give me, Mother Margaret," said he; "I am 
hungry — as hungry as a student." 

The poor woman, beside herself with joy, hastily laid 
before her guest some fresh eggs and new milk. His re- 
past finished, Napoleon forced his purse into the hands of 
his hostess, at the same time observing, " You recollect, 
Margaret, I used to make every one pay his reckoning. 
Adieu ! I shall not forget you ;" and as he again mounted 
his horse and rode away, the old Dame, weeping with ex- 
cess of delight, and straining her eyes to catch a last look, 
could only recompense him with her prayers. 



h6 



264, 



THE ELOCUTIONIST. 



LESSON CXXIV. 
Reply to Sir Robert Walpole. — Lord Chatham. 

Sir, — The atrocious crime of being a young man, which 
the honourable gentleman has, with such spirit and decencv 
charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to palliate nor 
deny ; but content myself with wishing, that I may be 
one of those whose follies may cease with their youth, and 
not of that number who are ignorant in spite of experi- 
ence. Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a 
reproach, I will not, Sir, assume the province of determin- 
ing ; but surely age may become justly contemptible, if 
the opportunities which it brings have passed away with- 
out improvement, and vice appear to prevail, when the 
passions have subsided. 

The wretch, who after seeing the consequences of a 
thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose 
age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the 
object either of abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not 
that his grey hairs should secure him from insult. Much 
more, Sir, is he to be abhorred, who, as he has advan- 
ced in age, has receded from virtue, and become more 
wicked with less temptation ; who prostitutes himself for 
money which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains 
of his life in the ruin of his country. But youth, Sir, is 
not my only crime; I have been accused of acting a 
theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply some 
peculiarities of gesture, or a dissimulation of my real 
sentiments, and an adoption of the opinions and lan- 
guage of another man. 

In the first sense, Sir, the charge is too trifling to be 
confuted ; and deserves only to be mentioned, that it may 
be despised. I am at liberty, like every other man, to use 
my own language ; and though, perhaps, I may have some 
ambition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself 
under any restraint, nor very solicitously copy his diction 
or his mien, however matured by age, or modelled by 
experience. But if any man shall, by charging me with 
theatrical behaviour, imply, that I utter any sentiments 
but my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator, and a vil- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 265 

* 

lain ; — nor shall any protection shelter him from the treat- 
ment he deserves. 

I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, trample 
upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity intrench 
themselves, — nor shall any thing but age restrain my re- 
sentment ; age, which always brings one privilege, that of 
being insolent and supercilious, without punishment. But 
with regard, Sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of 
opinion, that if I had acted a borrowed part, I should 
have avoided their censure : the heat that offended them, 
is the ardour of conviction, and that zeal for the service 
of my country, which neither hope nor fear shall influ- 
ence me to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned while 
my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon public rob- 
bery. I will exert my endeavours, at whatever hazard, 
to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, 
whoever may protect him in his villainy, and whoever may 
partake of his plunder. 



LESSON CXXV. 

Scene from " Pizarro." — Sheridan. 

Sentinel. Who's there ] answer quickly ! who's there ? 

Rolla. (Enters disguised as a monk.) A friar come to 
visit your prisoner. Inform me, friend, is not Alonzo, the 
Spanish prisoner, confined in this dungeon ] 

Sen. He is. 

Rol. I must speak with him. 

Sen. You must not. 

Rol. He is my friend. 

Sen. Not if he were your brother., 

Rol. What is to be his fate 1 

Sen. He dies at sun-rise. 

Rol. Ha ! then I am come in time. 

Sen. Just — to witness his death. 

Rol. Soldier, I must speak with him. 

Sen* Back ! back ! it is impossible. 

Rol. I do entreat you, but for one moment. 

Sen. You entreat in vain. My orders are most strict* 

Rol. Even now, I saw a messenger go hence. 



266 THE ELOCUTIONIST* 

| 

Sen. He brought a pass, which we are all accustomed 
to obey. 

Rol. Look on this wedge of massive gold : look on 
these precious gems. In thy own land they will be wealth 
for thee and thine, beyond thy hope or wish. Take them : 
they are thine. — Let me but pass one minute with Alonzo. 

Sen. Away ! Would'st thou corrupt me % me ! an old 
Castilian ! I know my duty better. 

Rol. Soldier ! hast thou a wife ] 

Sen. I have. 

Rol. Hast thou children ? 

Sen. Four : honest, lovely boys. 

Rol. Where didst thou leave them 1 

Sen. In my native village ! even in the cot where 
myself was born. 

Rol. Dost thou love thy children and thy wife ] 

Sen, Do I love them ! G-od knows my heart : I do. 

Rol. Soldier ! imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel 
death in this strange land : what would be thy last request % 

Sen* That some of my comrades should carry my dying 
blessing to my wife and children. 

Rol. O ! but if that comrade were at thy prison gate, 
and should there be told — thy fellow-soldier dies at sun- 
rise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, nor shalt 
thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children or his 
wretched wife — what wouldst thou think of him, who thus 
could drive thy comrade from the door ? 

Sen. How ! 

Rol. Alonzo has a wife and child. I am come but to 
receive for her, and for her babe, the last blessing of my 
friend. 

Sen. Go in. [Retires. 

Rol. O, holy Nature ! thou dost never plead in vain. — 
Alonzo ! Alonzo ! my friend ! Ha ! in gentle sleep ! 
Alonzo— rise ! 

Al. How ! is my hour elapsed ] Well, (returning from 
the recess y ) I am ready. 

Rol. Alonzo ! know me. 

Al. What voice is that ] 

Rol. 'Tis Rolla's. 

Al. Rolla ! my friend ! (Embraces Mm.) Heavens ! — 
how could'st thou pass the guard % Did this habit 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 267 

Rol. There is not a moment to be lost in words. This 
disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar, as I passed 
our field of battle ; it has gained me entrance to thy dun- 
geon ; now take it thou, and fly. 

Al. And Rolla 

Rol. Will remain here in thy place. 

Al. And die for me 1 No ; rather eternal tortures rack 
me. 

Rol. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro 
seeks, not Rolla' s ; and from my prison soon will thy arm 
deliver me ; or, should it be otherwise, I am as a blighted 
plantain, standing alone amid the sandy desert. Nothing 
smiles or lives beneath my shelter. Thou art a husband 
and a father ; the being of a lovely wife and helpless in- 
fant hangs upon thy life. Go, go, Alonzo ! Go, to save, 
not thyself, but Cora and thy child ! 

Al. Urge me not thus, my friend. I had prepared to 
die in peace. _ 

Rol. To die in peace ! devoting her you've sworn to 
live for, to madness, misery, and death! For be assured, 
the state I left her in, forbids all hope, but from thy quick 
return. 

Al. O Heavens ! 

Rol. If thou art yet irresolute, Alonzo, now heed me 
well. I think thou hast not known that Rolla ever pledged 
his word, and shrunk from its fulfilment. If thou art proud- 
ly obstinate to deny thy friend the transport of preserving 
Cora's life in thee, no power that sways the will of man 
shall stir me hence ; and thou'lt but have the desperate 
triumph of seeing Rolla perish by thy side, with the assured 
conviction, that Cora and thy child are lost for ever ! 

Al. O Rolla ! you distract me ! 

Rol. A moment's further pause, and all is lost. The 
dawn approaches. Fear not for me. I will treat with 
Pizarro as for surrender and submission. I shall gain time, 
doubt not, while thou with a chosen band, passing the 
secret way, mayst at night return, release thy friend, and 
bear him back in triumph. Yes, hasten, dear Alonzo. 
Even now I hear the frantic Cora call thee. Haste ! 
haste ! haste ! 

Al. Rolla, I fear your friendship drives me from honour, 
and from right. 



268 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Rol. Did Rolla ever counsel dishonour to his friend ? 

Al. O, my preserver ! {Embracing him. 

Rol. I feel thy warm tears dropping on my cheek. Go ; 
I am rewarded. ( Throws tlie friar's garment over Alonzo .) 
There, conceal thy face ; and that they may not clink, hold 
fast thy chains. Now, God be with thee ! 

Al. At night we meet again. Then, — so aid me heaven ! 
I return to save, or perish with thee ! [Exit. 

Rol. He has passed the outer porch — he is safe ! He 
will soon embrace his wife and child ! Alonzo flatters 
himself that we shall meet again ! Yes, there ! f lifting 
his hands to heaven) assuredly we shall meet again ; there 
possess in peace, the joys of everlasting love and friend- 
ship : on earth, imperfect and embittered ! (Retires in the 
recess.) 



LESSON CXXVL 

Van Artevelde's Address to the Men of Ghent. — Taylor. 

Sirs, ye have heard these knights discourse to you 
Of your ill fortunes, telling on their fingers 
The worthy leaders ye have lately lost. 
True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs; 
And ill would it become us to make light 
Of the great loss we suffer by their fall. 
They died like heroes; for no recreant step 
Had e'er dishonour'd them, no stain of fear, 
No base despair, no cowardly recoil. 
They had the hearts of freemen to the last, 
And the free blood that bounded in their veins 
Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy. 
But had they guess'd, or could they but have dreamed, 
The great examples which they died to show 
Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here, 
That men should say, " For liberty these died, 
Wherefore let us be slaves/ ' — had they thought this, 
Oh, then, with what an agony of shame, 
Their blushing faces buried in the dust, 
Had their great spirits parted hence for heaven ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 269 

What ! shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth 
To write, that in five bodies were contained 
The sole brave hearts of G-hent ! which five defunct, 
The heartless town, by brainless counsel led, 
Deliver' d up her keys, stript off her robes, 
And so with all humility besought 
Her haughty lord that he would scourge her lightly ! 
It shall not be — no, verily ! for now, 
Thus looking on you as ye stand before me, 
Mine eye can single out full many a man 
Who lacks but opportunity to shine 
As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell. — 

But lo ! the Earl is mercifully minded ! 
And surely if we, rather than revenge 
The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame, 
And fall upon our knees, and say we've sinned, 
Then will my lord the Earl have mercy on us ! 
And pardon us our letch for liberty ! 
What pardon it shall be, if we know not, 
Yet Ypres, Courtray, G-rammont, Bruges, they know ; 
For never can those towns forget the day 
When by the hangman's hands five hundred men, 
The bravest of each guild, were done to death 
In those base butcheries that he called pardons. 
And did it seal their pardons, all this blood I 
Had they the Earl's good love from that time forth 1 

Oh, sirs ! look round you, lest ye be deceived; 
Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue, 
Forgiveness may be written with the pen, 
But think not that the parchment and mouth pardon 
Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart. 
There's that betwixt you been which men remember 
Till they forget themselves, till all's forgot, — 
Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed 
From which no morrow's mischief rouses them. 
There's that betwixt you been which you yourselves, 
Should ye forget, would then not be yourselves ; 
For must it not be thought some base men's souls 
Have ta'en the seats of yours and turn'd you out, 
If, in the coldness of a craven heart, 
Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man 
For all his black, and murderous, monstrous crimes *? 



270 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Think of your mariners, three hundred men, 
After long absence in the Indian seas 
Upon their peaceful homeward voyage bound, 
And now, all dangers conquer'd, as they thought, 
Warping the vessels up their native stream, 
Their wives and children waiting them at home 
In joy, with festal preparation made, — 
Think of these mariners, their eyes torn out, 
Their hands chopped off, turn'd staggering into Ghent, 
To meet the blasted eye-sight of their friends ! 

And was not this the Earl ] 'Twas none but he ! 
No Hauterive of them all had dared to do it, 
Save at the express instance of the Earl ! 
And now what asks he ] 
Three hundred citizens to be surrendered 
Up to that mercy which I tell you of — 
That mercy which your mariners prov'd — which steep'd 
Courtray and Ypres, Grammont, Bruges, in blood! 
Three-hundred citizens, — a secret list, 
No man knows who — not one can say he's safe — 
Not one of you so humble, but that still 
The malice of some secret enemy 
May whisper him to death — and hark — look to it ! 
Have some of you seem'd braver than your fellows, 
Their courage is their surest condemnation ; 
They are mark'd men — and not a man stands here 
But may be so ! 



LESSON CXXVII. 

The March to Moscow. — Southey. 

The Emperor Nap he would set off 
On a summer excursion to Moscow ; 
The fields were green, and the sky was blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu ! 
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow ! 

Four hundred thousand men and more, 
Must go with him to Moscow ; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECI^AMATION. 271 

There were Marshals by the dozen, 

And Dukes by the score ; 
Princes a few, and Kings one or two ; 
While the fields are so green, and the sky so blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu ! 
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow ! 

But the Russians stoutly they turned to, 
Upon the road to Moscow. 
Nap had to fight his way all through ; 
They could fight, though they could not parley -voo ; 
But the fields were green, and the sky was blue, 
Morbleu ! Parbleu ! 
And so he got to Moscow. 

He found the place too warm for him, 

For they set fire to Moscow. 
To r get there had cost him much ado, 
And then no better course he knew, 
While the fields were green, and the sky was blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 
But to march back again from Moscow. 

The Russians they stuck close to him, 
All on the road from Moscow. 
There was Tormazow and Jemalow, 
And all the others that end in ow ; 
Milarodovitch and Jaladovitch, 
And Karatschkowitch, 
And all the others that end in itch ; 
SchamschefF, Souchosaneff, 
And Schepaleff, 
And all the others that end in eff; 

Wasiltschikoff, KostomarofF, 
And Tchoglokoff, 
And all the others that end in off; 
Rajeffsky, and Novereffsky, 
And Rieffsky, 
And all the others that end in effsky ; 

Oscharoffsky and Rostoffsky, 
And all the others that end in offsky ; 

And Platoff he play'd them off, 
And Shouvaloff he shovell'd them off, 



272 . THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

And Markoff he mark'd them off, 
And Krosnoff he cross'd them off, 
And Tuchkoff he touch'd them off, 
And Boroskoff he bored them off, 
And Kutousoff he cut them off 
And Parenzoff he pared them off, 
And Worronsoff he worried them off, 
And Doctoroff he doctored them off, 
And Rodionoff he flogged them off. 
And, last of all, an Admiral came, 
A terrible man with a terrible name, 
A name which you all know by sight very well, 
But which no one can speak, and no one can spell. 
They stuck close to Nap with all their might ; 

They were on the left, and on the right, 

Behind and before, and by day and by night ; 

He would rather parlez-vous than fight ; 

But he look'd white, and he look'd blue, 

Morbleu ! Parbleu! 
When parlez-vous no more would do, 
For they remember'd Moscow. 

And then came on the frost and snow, 
All on the road from Moscow. 
The wind and the weather he found, in that hour, 

Cared nothing for him, nor for all his power ; 
For him, who while Europe crouch'd under his rod, 
Put his trust in his Fortune, and not in his God. 
Worse and worse every day the elements grew, 
The fields were so white, and the sky so blue, 
Sacrebleu ! Ventrebleu ! 
What a horrible journey from Moscow! 

What then thought the Emperor Nap 

Upon the road from Moscow ? 
Why, I ween he thought it small delight 
To fight all day, and to freeze all night ; 
And he was besides in a very great fright, 
For a whole skin he liked to be in ; 
And so, not knowing what else to do, 
When the fields were so white, and the sky so blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 273 

He stole away, — I tell you true, — 

Upon the road from Moscow : 
'Tis myself, quoth he, I must mind most; 
And so — good luck to the hindmost ! 



LESSON CXXVIIL 

Lodgings for Single Gentlemen. — Colman. 

Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, 
Has seen "Lodgings to Let" stare him full in the face : 
Some are good, and let dearly ; while some, 'tis well known, 
Are so dear and so bad, they are best let alone. 

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely, 
Hired lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only; 
But Will was so fat, he appeared like a tun — 
Or like two Single Gentlemen roll'd into One. 

He enter' d his rooms, and to bed he retreated; 
But, all the night long, he felt fever'd and heated ; 
And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep, 
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep. 

Next night 'twas the same ! — and the next ! — and the next ! 
He perspired like an ox ; he was nervous and vex'd. 
Week pass'd after week, till, by weekly succession, 
His weakly condition was past all expression. 

In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him ; 
For his skin, "like a lady's loose gown," hung about him ! 
So he sent for a doctor, and cried like a ninny, 
" I have lost many pounds — make me well — there's a 
guinea." 

The doctor look'd wise : — " A slow fever," he said ; 
Prescribed sudorifics — and going to bed. — 
" Sudorifics in bed," exclaim' d Will, "are humbugs! 
I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs !" 

Will kick'd out the doctor ; — but, when ill indeed, 
E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed; 
So, calling his host, he said — " Sir, do you know, 
I'm the fat Single Gentleman, six months ago ? 



274 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

" Look ye, landlord, I think, " argued Will with a grin, 
" That with honest intentions you first took me in : 
But from the first night — and to say it I'm bold — 
I've been so very hot, that I'm sure I've caught cold !" 

Quoth the landlord, — " Till now, I ne'er had a dispute ; 
I've let lodgings ten years, — I'm a baker to boot; 
In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven ; 
And your bed is immediately — over my oven." 

"The oven!!!" says Will. — Says the host, " Why this 

passion ] 
In that excellent bed died three people of fashion ! 
Why so crusty, good sir]" — "Zounds!" cried Will in a 

taking, 
" Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking V 9 

Will paid for his rooms. Cried the host, with a sneer, 

"Well, I see you've been going away half a year." — 

" Friend, we can't well agree ; — yet no quarrel" — Will 

said ; — 
# " But I'd rather not perish while you make your bread." 



LESSON CXXIX. 

Beauty, Wtt, and Gold. — Moore. 

In her bower a widow dwelt, 
At her feet three suitors knelt ; 
Each adored the widow much, 
Each essayed her heart to touch. 
One had wit, and one had gold, 
And one was cast in beauty's mould. 
Guess which was it won the prize — 
Purse, or tongue, or handsome eyes 1 

First, appeared the handsome man, 
Proudly peeping o'er her fan ; 
Red his lips and white his skin — 
Could such beauty fail to win ? 
Then stepped forth the man of gold, 
Cash he counted, coin he told ; 



PIECES FOE READING AND DECLAMATION. 275 

Wealth the burden of his tale, 
Could such golden projects fail ] 

Then the man of wit and sense 
Wooed her with his eloquence ; 
Npw, she heard him with a sigh : 
Now, she blushed, she knew not why ; 
Then she smiled to hear him speak — 
Then a tear was on her cheek ! 
Beauty, vanish ! gold, depart ! 
Wit has won the widow's heart ! 



LESSON CXXX. 

The Jubilee of the Constitution. — J. Q,. Adams. 

This is the day of your commemoration : — the day 
when ( the Revolution of Independence being completed, 
the new confederated Republic, announced to the world, 
as the United States of America — constituted and or- 
ganized under a government founded on the principles of 
the Declaration of Independence— was to hold her course 
along the lapse of time among the civilized nations of 
the earth. 

From this point of departure we have looked back to 
the origin of the Union ; to the conflict of war by which 
the severance from the mother-country, and the release 
from the thraldom of a trans-Atlantic monarch, were 
effected, and to the more arduous and gradual progression 
by which the new government had been constructed to 
take the place of that which had been cast off and de- 
molished. 

The first object of the people, declared by the Constitu- 
tion as their motive for its establishment, to form a more 
perfect Union, had been attained by the establishment of 
the Constitution itself; but this was yet to be demonstra- 
ted by its practical operation in the establishment of jus- 
tice, in the ensurance of domestic tranquillity, in the provi- 
sion for the common defence, in the promotion of the gen- 
eral welfare, and in securing the blessings of liberty to the 



276 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

people themselves, the authors of the Constitution, and to 
their posterity. 

These are the great and transcendental objects of all 
legitimate government, the primary purposes of all hu- 
man associations. For these purposes the confederation 
had been instituted, and had signally failed for their attain- 
ment. How far have they been attained under this new 
national organization ? 

It has abided the trial of time. This day fifty years 
have passed away since the first impulse was given to the 
wheels of this political machine. . The generation by which 
it was constructed, has passed away. Not one member of 
the Convention who gave this Constitution to their country, 
survives. They have enjoyed its blessings so far as they 
were secured by their labours. They have been gathered 
to their fathers. That posterity for whom they toiled, not 
less anxiously than for themselves, has arisen to occupy their 
places, and is rapidly passing away in its turn. 

A third generation, unborn upon the day which you com- 
memorate, forms a vast majority of the assembly who now 
honour me with their attention. Your city which then 
numbered scarcely thirty thousand inhabitants, now counts 
its numbers by hundreds of thousands. Your state, then 
numbering less than double the population of your city at 
this day, now tells its children by millions. The thirteen 
primitive states of the revolution, painfully rallied by this 
constitution to the fold from which the impotence and dis- 
uniting character of the confederacy, was already leading 
them astray, now reinforced by an equal number* of young- 
er sisters, and' all swarming with an active, industrious, and 
hardy population, have penetrated from the Atlantic to the 
Rocky Mountains, and opened a paradise upon the wilds 
Watered by the father of the floods. 

The Union, which at the first census, ordained by this 
Constitution, returned a people of less than four millions 
of souls ; at the next census, already commanded by law, 
the semi-centural enumeration since that day, is about to 
exhibit a return of seventeen millions. Never since the 
first assemblage of men in social union, has there been 
such a scene of continued prosperity recorded upon the 
annals of time. 

How much of this prosperity is justly attributable to the 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 277 

Constitution, then first put upon its trial, may perhaps be 
differently estimated by speculative minds. Never was a 
form of government so obstinately, so pertinaciously con- 
tested before its establishment— and never were human fore- 
sight and sagacity more disconcerted and refuted by the 
event, than those of the opposers of the Constitution. On 
the other hand, its results have surpassed the most sanguine 
anticipations of its friends. Neither Washington, nor 
Madison, nor Hamilton, dared to hope that this new ex- 
periment of government would so triumphantly accom- 
plish the purposes which the confederation had so utterly 
failed to effect. 

The Declaration of Independence had promulgated 
principles of government, subversive of all unlimited 
sovereignty and all hereditary power — principles, in con- 
sistency with which no conqueror could establish by 
violence a throne to be trodden by himself and by 
his posterity, for a space of eight hundred years. The 
foundations of government laid by those who had burnt by 
fire and scattered to the winds of Heaven, the ashes of this 
conqueror's throne, were human rights, responsibility to 
God, and the consent of the people. Upon these princi- 
ples, the Constitution of the United States was formed, 
was organized, and carried into execution, to abide the test 
of time. 



LESSON CXXXL 

A Literary Dinner. — Irving. 

Mr. . Buckthprn called upon me, and took me with 
him to a regular literary dinner, given by a great booksel- 
ler, or rather a company of booksellers. I was surprised 
to find between twenty and thirty guests assembled, most 
of whom I had never seen before. Mr. Buckthorn ex- 
plained this to me, by informing me that this was a busi- 
ness-dinner, or kind of field-day, which the house gave 
about twice a year to its authors. It is true, they did oc- 
casionally give snug dinners to three or four literary men 
at a time ; but then these were generally select authors, 
favourites of the public, such as had arrived at their sixth 
or seventh editions. 



278 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

" There are," said he, " certain geographical boundaries 
in the land of literature, and you may judge tolerably well 
of an author's popularity by the wine his bookseller gives 
him. An author crosses the port line about the third edi- 
tion, and gets into claret ; and when he has reached the 
sixth or seventh, he may revel in champaigne and burgun- 
dy." 

" And pray," said I, " how far may these gentlemen have 
reached that I see round me ; are any of these claret 
drinkers I" 

"Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great din- 
ners the common steady run of authors, one, two-edition 
men ; or, if any others are invited, they are aware that it 
is a kind of republican meeting. You understand me — a 
meeting of the republic of letters ; and they mast expect 
nothing but plain, substantial fare." 

These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the 
arrangement of the table. The two ends were occupied 
by two partners of the house ; and the host seemed to 
have adopted Addison's idea as to the literary precedence 
of his guests. A popular poet had the post of honour ; op- 
posite to whom was a hot-pressed traveller in quarto, with 
plates. A grave-looking antiquary, who had produced 
several solid works, that were much quoted and little read, 
was treated with great respect, and seated next to a neat 
dressy gentleman in black, who had written a thin, gen- 
teel, hot-pressed octavo on political economy, that was get- 
ting into fashion. Several three-volume-duodecimo men, 
of fair currency, were placed about the centre of the table ; 
while the lower end was taken up with small poets, trans- 
lators, and authors, who had not yet risen into much noto- 
riety. 

The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts ; 
breaking out here and there, in various parts of the table, 
in small flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet, who had 
the confidence of a man on good terms with the world, and 
independent of his bookseller, was very gay and brilliant, 
and said many clever things which set the partner next 
him in a roar, and delighted all the company. The other 
partner, however, maintained his sedateness, and kept car- 
ving on, with the air of a thorough man of business, intent 
upon the occupation of the moment. His gravity was ex- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 279 

plained to me by my friend Buckthorn. He informed me 
that the concerns of the house were admirably distributed 
among the partners. "Thus, for instance, ,, said he, " the 
grave gentleman is the carving partner, who attends to the 
joints ; and the other is the laughing partner, who attends 
to the jokes." 

The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the 
upper end of the table, as the authors there seemed to pos- 
sess the greatest courage of the tongue. As to the crew at 
'the lower end, if they did not make much figure in talking, 
they did in eating. Never was there a more determined, 
inveterate, thoroughly-sustained attack on the trencher, 
than by this phalanx of masticators. When the cloth was 
removed, and the wine began to circulate, they grew very 
merry and jocose among themselves. Their jokes, howev- 
er, if by chance any of them reached the upper end of the 
table, seldom produced much effect. Even the laughing 
partner did not seem to think it necessary to honour them 
with a smile ; which my neighbour Buckthorn accounted 
for, by informing me that there was a certain degree of pop- 
ularity to be obtained before a bookseller could afford to 
laugh at an author's jokes. 

After dinner we retired to another room to take tea and 
coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud of inferior 
guests — authors of small volumes in boards, and pamph- 
lets stitched in blue paper. These had not as yet arrived 
at the importance of a dinner invitation, but were invited 
occasionally to pass the evening "in a friendly way." 
They were very respectful to the partners, and, indeed, 
seemed to stand a little in awe of them ; but they paid de- 
voted court to the lady of the house, and were extravagant- 
ly fond of the children. Some few, who did not feel con- 
fidence enough to make such advances, stood shyly off in 
corners, talking to one another ; or turned over the port- 
folios of prints, which they had not seen above five thou- 
sand times, or mused over the music on the forte-piano. 

The poet and the thin octavo gentlemen were the per- 
sons most current and at their ease in the drawing-room, 
being men evidently of circulation in the west end. They 
got on each side of the lady of the house, and paid her a 
thousand compliments and civilities, at some of which I 
thought she would have expired with delight. Every 



280 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

thing they said and did had the odour of fashionable life. 
Finding nothing further to interest my attention, I took 
tny departure soon after coffee had been served, leaving 
he poet, and the thin, genteel, hot-pressed, octavo gentle- 
man, masters of the field. 



LESSON CXXXIL 
Melancholy Fate of tlie Indians. — C. Sprague. 

I venerate the pilgrim's cause, 

Yet for the red man dare to plead : 
We bow to heaven's recorded laws, 
He turn'd to Nature for a creed ; 
Beneath the pillar'd dome 

We seek our God in prayer ; 
Through boundless woods he loved to roam, 
But one, one fellow-throb with us he felt ; 
To one Divinity with us he knelt — 
Freedom ! the self-same freedom we adore, 
Bade him defend his violated shore. 

He saw the cloud, ordain 'd to grow, 

And burst upon his hills in wo : 

He saw his people withering lie, 

Beneath the invader's evil eye ; 
Strange feet were trampling on his fathers' bones ! 

At midnight hour, he woke to gaze 

Upon his happy cabin's blaze, 
And listen to his children's dying groans. 

He saw, and, maddening at the sight, 

Gave his bold bosom to the fight ; 

To tiger rage his soul was driven ; 

Mercy was not — nor sought nor given ; 

The pale man from his lands must fly — 

He would be free — Or he would die ! 

And was this savage % Say, 

Ye ancient few, 

Who struggled through 
Young freedom's trial-day, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 281 

What first your sleeping wrath awoke ] 
On your own shores war's 'larum broke ? 
What turned to gall even kindred blood ] 
Round your own homes the oppressor stood ! 
This every warm affection chilled, 
This every heart with vengeance thrilled, 

And strengthened every hand. 
From mound to mound 
The word went round — 

" Death for our native land ! 

Ye mothers, too, breathe ye no sigh, 
For them who thus could dare to die ] 
Are all your own dark hours forgot, 

Of soul-sick suffering here ] 
Your pangs, as from yon mountain spot,* 
Death spoke in every booming shot, 
That knell'd upon your ear 1 
How oft that gloomy, glorious tale ye tell, 

As round your knees your children's children hang, . * 
Of them, the gallant ones, ye loved so well, 
Who to the conflict for their country sprang ! 
In pride, in all the pride of woe, 
Ye tell of them, the brave, laid low, 

Who for their birthplace bled ; 

In pride, the pride of triumph then, 

Ye tell of them, the matchless men, 

From whom the invaders fled. 

And ye, this holy place who throng, 
The annual theme to hear, 
And bid the exulting song 

Sound their great names from year to year; 
Ye, who invoke the chisel's breathing grace, 
In marble majesty their forms to trace ; 

Ye, who the sleeping rocks would raise 

To guard their dust and speak their praise ; 
Ye, who, should some other band 
With hostile foot defile the land, 
Feel that ye, like them, would wake, 
Like them the yoke of bondage break, 

* Bunker Hill. 



282 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Nor leave a battle blade undrawn, 
Though every hill a sepulchre should yawn- 
Say, have ye not one line for those, 

One brother-line to spare, 
Who rose but as your fathers rose, 

And dared as ye would dare % 



LESSON CXXXIIL 
The Future Life. — W. C. Bryant. 

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 

The disembodied spirits of the dead, 
When all of thee that time could wither, sleeps, 

And perishes among the dust we tread 1 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 
If there I meet thy gentle presence not, 

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there— 
That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given ? 

My name on earth was ever in thy prayer : 

Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven ? 

In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind — 
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, 

And larger movements of th' unfettered mind, 
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ] 

The love that lived through all the stormy past, 
And meekly with my harsher nature bore, 

And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last : 
Shall it expire with life, and be no more ? 

A happier lot than mine, and larger light, 

Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will 

In cheerful homage to the rule of right, 
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 

For me — the sordid cares in which I dwell 

Shrink and consume the heart, as heat the scroll ; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. $83 

And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell 
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. 

Yet, though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, 
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, 

The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, 
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same % 

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, 
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — 

The wisdom that is love — till I become 
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss % 



LESSON CXXXIV. 

Satan 's Reproof of Beelzebub. — Milton. 

Fallen cherub ! to be weak is miserable, 
Doing or suffering ; but of this be sure, 
To do aught good never will be our task, 
But ever to do ill our sole delight, 
As being the contrary to his high will 
Whom we resist. If then his providence 
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good, 
Our labour must be to pervert that end 
And out of good still to find means of evil ; 
Which oft-times may succeed, so as perhaps 
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb 
His inmost counsels from their destined aim. 

But see ! the angry Victor hath recall'd 
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit 
Back to the gates of heaven : the sulphurous hail, 
Shot after us in storm, o'erblown, hath laid 
The fiery surge, that from the precipice 
Of heaven received us falling ; and the thunder, 
Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage, 
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now 
To bellow through the vast and boundless deep. 
Let us not slip the occasion, whether scorn, 
Or satiate fury, yield it from our foe. 

Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, 



284? THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

The seat of desolation, void of light, 

Save what the glimmering of these livid flames 

Casts pale and dreadful ] Thither let us tend 

From off the tossing of these fiery waves : 

There rest, if any rest can harbour there ; 

And, re-assembling our afflicted powers, 

Consult how we may henceforth most offend 

Our enemy ; our own loss how repair ; 

How overcome this dire calamity ; 

What reinforcement we may gain from hope ; 

If not, what resolution from despair. 



LESSON CXXXV. 
The Pilgrim Fathers. — John Pierpont. 

The Pilgrim Fathers, — where are they ] — 

The waves that brought them o'er 
Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray 

As they break along the shore : 
Still roll in the bay, as they roll'd that day 

When the Mayflower moor 'd below, 
When the sea around was black with storms, 

And white the shore with snow. 

The mists, that wrapped the Pilgrim's sleep, 

Still brood upon the tide ; 
And his rocks yet keep their watch by the deep, 

To stay its waves of pride. 
But the snow-white sail, that he gave to the gale 

When the heavens look'd dark, is gone ; — 
As an angel's wing, through an opening cloud, 

Is seen, and then withdrawn. 

The Pilgrim exile, — sainted name ! 

The hill, whose icy brow 
Rejoiced when he came, in the morning's flame, 

In the morning's flame burns now. 
And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night 

On the hill-side and the sea, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 285 

Still lies where he laid his houseless head ; — 
But the Pilgrim, — where is he ] 

The Pilgrim Fathers are at rest ; 

When summer's throned on high, 
And the world's warm breast is in verdure dress'd, 

Go, stand on the hill where they lie. 
The earliest ray of the golden day 

On that hallow'd spot is cast ; 
And the evening sun, as he leaves the world, 

Looks kindly on that spot last. 

The Pilgrim spirit has not fled ; 

It walks in noon's broad light ; 
And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, 

With their holy stars, by night. 
It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, 

And shall guard this ice-bound shore, 
Till the waves of the bay, where the Mayflower lay, 

Shall foam and freeze no more. 



LESSON CXXXVI. 



Order of Nature. — Pope. 

See, through this air, this ocean, and this earth, 
All matter quick, and bursting into birth. 
Above, how high progressive life may go ! 
Around, how wide ! how deep extend below ! 
Vast chain of being, which from God began, 
Natures ethereal, human, angel, man, 
Beast, bird, fish, insect — what no eye can see, 
No glass can reach — from infinite to thee — 
From thee to nothing— On superior powers 
Were we to press, inferior might on ours ; 
Or in the full creation leave a void, 
Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroyed : 



286 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

From nature's chain whatever link you strike, 
Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike. 

And if each system in gradation roll, 
Alike essential to the amazing whole, 
The least confusion but in one, not all 
That system only, but the whole, must fall. 
Let earth, unbalanced, from her orbit fly, 
Planets and suns rush lawless through the sky ; 
Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurled, 
Being on being wrecked, and world on world, 
Heaven's whole foundations to their centre nod, 
And nature trembles to the throne of God ! 
All this dread order break ? For whom ? Fur thee, 
Vile worm ! — O madness ! pride ! impiety ! 

What if the foot, ordained the dust to tread, 
Or hand to toil, aspires to be the head 1 
What if the head, the eye, or ear, repined 
To serve mere engines to the ruling mind ? 
Just as absurd for any part to claim 
To be another in this general frame, — 
Just as absurd, to mourn the tasks or pains, 
The great directing Mind of all ordains. 

All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 
Whose body nature is, and God the soul ; 
That changed through all, and yet in all the same, 
Great in the earth as in the ethereal frame ; 
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, 
Lives through all life, extends through all extent, 
Spreads undivided, operates unspent, 
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, 
As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; 
As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, 
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns : 
To him, no high, no low, no great, no small ; 
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. 

Cease, then, nor Order Imperfection name : 
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. 
Know thy own point : this kind, this due degree 
Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 287 

Submit ! — in this, or any other sphere, 

Secure to be as blessed as thou can'st bear ; 

Safe in the hand of one disposing Power, 

Or in the natal, in the mortal hour ; 

All nature is but art, unknown to thee ; 

All chance, direction, which thou can'st not see ; 

All discord, harmony not understood ; 

All partial evil, universal good ; 

And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, 

One truth is clear — " Whatever is, is right J " 



LESSOR CXXXVII. 
Edmund Burke. — Blackwood's Magazine. 

The loss of his son had broken the heart of Burke, and 
in the midst of his thoughts of patriotism, fame and hon- 
our, he reverts perpetually to the melancholy recollection. 
Like some shade of the departed, the image of his dead 
son starts up before him wheresoever he turns his step. No 
matter in what great affairs he may be occupied ; no mat- 
ter whether his foot be in the palace or in the field ; whe- 
ther he give counsel to the disturbed and anxious minds of 
the nation, or confound with indignant eloquence and pro- 
phetic rebuke the multitude and their profligate teachers, 
the form of his son always moves before his sight, and he 
always acknowledges it, as reminding him that the world 
is closed upon his hopes and beckoning him to the grave. 
To others, this perpetual grief might be unmanly, because 
it would unman. To Burke's powerful and philosophic 
mind it diminished nothing of power, of generous zeal, of 
lofty perseverance. It solemnized and sanctified. It pal- 
pably mingled the elevation of sacred feeling with the en- 
ergies of his original genius. 

The bold partisan, the vigorous actor in public life, has 
disappeared. His views are more general, less concerned 
for triumph than for truth; and, disposed as he was, by na- 
ture, to this expansion of view, and making obvious advan- 



288 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

ces towards it in every successive period of his public ca- 
reer, it was now that he attained the full dignity and puri- 
ty of his powers. The same blow which had lain his son 
in the tomb, severed the last link which bound him to pub- 
lic life. The fetter fell away from his wing, and he at 
once sprang up above all the mists and obstacles which had 
before narrowed the circle of his vision. 

" Had it pleased God," he says with pathetic pride, "to 
continue to me the hope of succession, I should have been, 
according to my mediocrity, and the mediocrity of the age 
I live in, a sort of founder of a family. I should have left a 
son, who, in all the points in which personal merit can be 
viewed, in science, in erudition, in genius, in honour, in 
humanity, in every liberal sentiment and every liberal ac- 
complishment, would not have shown himself inferior to 
the most distinguished nobles of the land. He had in him- 
self a silent, living spring, of generous and manly action. 
Every day he ljved, he would have repurchased the bounty 
of the crown, and ten times more. He was made a public 
creature, and had no enjoyment whatever, but in the per- 
formance of some duty. At this moment, the loss of a fin- 
ished man is not easily supplied." 

Then follows the passage which has been so often pane- 
gyrized, and which, like some triumphal arch of Rome, at 
once a trophy and an emblem of mortality, will sustain, by 
the richness of its workmanship, all the admiration that can 
be lavished on its architect to the end of time: — " But a 
Disposer, whose power we are little able to resist, and 
whose wisdom it behoves us not at all to dispute, has or- 
dained it in another manner, and — whatever my querulous 
weakness might suggest — a far better. The storm has 
gone over me, and I lie, like one of those old oaks which 
the late hurricane has scattered about me. I am stripped of 
all my honours — I am torn up by the roots, and lie pros- 
trate on the earth. There, and prostrate there, I must un- 
feignedly recognize the Divine justice. But, while I hum- 
ble myself before God, I do not know that it is forbidden to 
repel the attacks of unjust and inconsiderate man. Tt v pa- 
tience of Job is proverbial. After some of the struggles of 
our irritable nature, he submitted himself, and repented in 
dust and ashes. But even so, I do not find him blamed for 
reprehending those ill-natured neighbours of his, who vi- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 289 

sited his dunghill to read moral, political, and economical 
lectures on his misery. I am alone, I have none to meet 
my enemies in the gate. I live in an inverted order. They 
who ought to have succeeded me, have gone before me. 
They who should have been to me a posterity, are in the 
place of ancestors. I owe to the dearest relation — which 
ever must subsist in memory — that act of piety, which he 
would have performed for me. I owe to him to show 
that he was not descended from an unworthy parent.' ' 



LESSON CXXXVIII. 
Character of Lord Bacon. — T. B. Macaulay. 

One of the most remarkable circumstances in the history 
of Bacon's mind, is the order in which its powers expanded 
themselves. With him the fruit came first and remained 
till the last ; the blossoms did not appear till late. In gen- 
eral the development of the fancy is to the development of 
the judgment, what the growth of a girl is to the growth of 
a boy. The fancy attains at an earlier period to the per- 
fection of its beauty, its power, and its fruitfulness ; and, 
as it is first to ripen, it is also first to fade. It has general- 
ly lost something of its bloom and freshness before the 
sterner faculties have reached maturity : and is commonly 
withered and barren while those faculties still retain all 
their energy. 

It rarely happens that the fancy and the judgment grow 
together. It happens still more rarely that the judgment 
grows faster than the fancy. This seems, however, to have 
been the case with Bacon. His boyhood and youth appear 
to have been singularly sedate. His gigantic scheme of 
philosophical reform is said by some writers to have been 
planned before he was fifteen ; and was undoubtedly plan- 
ned while he was still young. He observed as vigilantly, 
meditated as deeply, and judged as temperately, when he 
gave \is first work to the world, as at the close of his long 
career. But in eloquence, in sweetness, and variety of 
expression, and in richness of illustration, his later writings 
are far superior to those of his youth. 



290 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

It is painful to turn back from contemplating Bacon's 
philosophy, to contemplate his life. Yet, without so turn- 
ing back, it is impossible to fairly estimate his powers. He 
left the University at an earlier age than that at which most 
people repair thither. While yet a boy he was plunged 
into the midst of diplomatic business. Thence he passed 
to the study of a vast technical system of law, and worked 
his way up through a succession of laborious offices to the 
highest post in his profession. In the meantime he took 
an active part in every Parliament; he was an adviser of 
the crown ; he paid court with the greatest assiduity and 
address to all whose favour was likely to be of use to him ; 
he lived much in society ; he noted the slightest peculiari- 
ties of character and the slightest changes of fashion. 

Scarcely any man has led a more stirring life than that 
which Bacon led from sixteen to sixty. Scarcely any man 
has been better entitled to be called a thorough man of the 
world. The founding of a new philosophy, the imparting 
of a new direction to the minds of speculators — this was 
the amusement of his leisure, the work of hours occasion- 
ally stolen from the Woolsack and the Council Board. 
This consideration, while it increases the admiration with 
which we regard his intellect, increases also our regret 
that such an intellect should so often have been unworthily 
employed. He well knew the better course, and had, at 
one time, resolved to pursue it. 

" I confess," said he, in a letter written when he was 
still young, " that I have as vast contemplative ends, as 
I have moderate civil ends." Had his civil ends continu- 
ed to be moderate, he would have been not only the Mo- 
ses, but the Joshua of philosophy. He would have fulfill- 
ed a large part of his own magnificent predictions. He 
would not merely have pointed out, but would have di- 
vided the spoil. Above all, he would have left not only 
a great, but a spotless name. Mankind would then have 
been able to esteem their illustrious benefactor. 

We should not then be compelled to regard his charac- 
ter with mingled contempt and admiration, with mingled 
aversion and gratitude. We should not then regret that 
there should be so many proofs of the narrowness and sel- 
fishness of a heart, the benevolence of which was yet large 
enough to take in all races and all ages. We should not 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 291 

then have to blush for the disingenuousness of the most de- 
voted worshipper of speculative truth, for the servility of 
the boldest champion of intellectual freedom. We should 
not then have seen the same man at one time far in the 
van, and at another time far in the rear of his generation. 
We should not then be forced to own, that he who first 
treated legislation as a science, was among the last English- 
men who used the rack ; that he who first summoned phi- 
losophers to the great work of interpreting nature, was 
among the last Englishmen who sold justice. And we 
should conclude our survey of a life placidly, honourably, 
beneficially passed, " in industrious observations, grounded 
conclusions, and profitable inventions and discoveries," 
with feelings very different from those with which we now 
turn away from the checkered spectacle of so much glory 
and so much shame. 



LESSON CXXXIX. 

On the Downfall of Poland. — Campbell. 

O sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceased awhile, 
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, 
When leagued Oppression pour'd to Northern wars 
Her whisker'd pandours and her fierce hussars, 
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
PeaFd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn ; 
Tumultuous Horror brooded o'er her van, 
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 

Warsaw's last champion, from her height, survey'd, 
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid : 
" O Heaven !" he cried, " my bleeding country save! — • 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave 1 
Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains, 
Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! 
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high ! 
And swear, for her to live ! — with her to die !" 

He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd 
His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd ; 
l2 



292 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ! 
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
Revenge, or death ! — the watchword and reply ; 
Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm !— 

In vain — alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 
From rank to rank your volley' d thunder flew : 
Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ! 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her wo ! 
Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear, 
Closed her bright eye, and curb'd her bright career ; 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, 
And Freedom shriek'd — as Kosciusko fell ! 



LESSON CXL. 

Saturday Evening, — Bulwer. 

The week is past, the Sabbath dawn comes on, 

Rest — rest in peace — thy daily toil is done ; 
And standing, as thou standest, on the brink 

Of anew scene of being, calmly think 
Of what is gone, is now, and soon shall be, 

As one that trembles on eternity. 
For sure as this now closing week is past, 

So sure advancing Time will close my last — 
Sure as to-morrow, shall the awful light 

Of the eternal morning hail my sight. 

Spirit of good ! on this week's verge I stand, 

Tracing the guiding influence of thy hand ; 
That hand which leads me gently, calmly still, 

Up life's dark, stony, tiresome, thorny hill, 
Thou, thou in every storm hast sheltered me 

Beneath the wing of thy benignity ; 
A thousand writhe upon the bed of pain : 

I live — and pleasure flows through every vein ! 
A thousand graves my footsteps circumvent, 

And I exist — thy mercy's monument ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 293 

Want o'er a thousand wretches waves her wand ; 

I, circled by ten thousand mercies, stand ; 
How can I praise thee, Father ! how express 

My debt of rev'rence and of thankfulness! 
A debt that no intelligence can count, 

While every moment swells the vast amount ; 
For the week's duties thou hast given me strength, 

And brought me to its peaceful close at length, 
And here my grateful bosom fain would raise 

A fresh memorial to thy glorious praise. 



LESSON CXLL 

God. — Bowring. 

[Translated from the Russian of Derzhavtn.] 

O Thou Eternal One ! whose presence bright 
All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; 

Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight ; 
Thou only God ! There is no God beside ! 

Being above all Beings ! Mighty One ! 

Whom none can comprehend and none explore ! 

Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone : 
Embracing all, — supporting, — ruling o'er, — 
Being, whom we call God ! — and know no more. 

In its sublime research, philosophy 

May measure out the ocean-deep ; may count 
The sands, or the sun's rays ; but, God ! for thee 

There is no weight nor measure : — none can mount 
Up to thy mysteries. Reason's brightest spark, 

Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try 
To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark ; 

And thought is lost, ere thought can soar so high, 

Even like past moments in eternity. 

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call 
First chaos, then existence. Lord, on thee 

Eternity had its foundation : all 

Sprang forth from thee — of light, joy, harmony, 

Sole origin ; — all life, all beauty thine. 
i3 



294 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Thy word created all, and doth create ; 
Thy splendour fills all space with rays divine. 

Thou art, and wert, and shalt be, glorious ! great ! 
Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate ! 

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround, 

Upheld by thee, by thee inspired with breath ! 
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, 

And beautifully mingled life and death. 
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze, 

So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from thee \ 
And, as the spangles in the sunny rays 

Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry 
Of heaven's bright army glitters in thy praise. 

A million torches, lighted by thy hand, 

Wander unwearied through the blue abyss : 
They own thy power, accomplish thy command, 

All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 
What shall we call them 1 Piles of crystal light % 

A glorious company of golden streams 1 
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright % 

Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? 
But thou to these art as the moon to night. 

Yes.; as a drop of water in the sea, 

All this magnificence in thee is lost : 
What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee 1 

And what am I then ] Heaven's unnumber'd host,— 
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 

In all the glory of sublimest thought, — 
Is but an atom in the balance, weighed 

Against thy greatness ; is a cipher brought 

Against infinity ! Oh ! what am I then % — Nought ! 

Nought ! But the effluence of thy light divine, 

Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too ; 
Yes ! in my spirit doth thy spirit shine, 

As shines the sun-beam in a drop of dew. 
Nought ! But I live, and on hope's pinions fly, 

Eager, towards thy presence ; for in thee 
I live, and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high, 

Even to the throne of thy divinity. 

I am, O God ; and surely thou must be ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 295 

Thou art ! directing, guiding all, thou art ! 

Direct my understanding, then, to thee ; 
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart. 

Though but an atom 'midst immensity, 
Still I am something, fashioned by thy hand ! 

I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth, 
On the last verge of mortal being stand, 

Close to the realms where angels have their birth, 
Just on the boundaries of the spirit land ! 

The chain of being is complete in me ; 

In me is matter's last gradation lost, 
And the next step is spirit — Deity ! 

I can command the lightning, and am dust ! 
A monarch — and a slave ! a worm — a god ! 

Whence came I here, and how so marvellously 
Constructed and conceived ] unknown ! This clod 

Lives surely through some higher energy ; 

For, from itself alone, it could not be ! 

Creator, yes : thy wisdom and thy word 

Created me ! Thou Source of life and good ! 

Thou Spirit of my spirit, and my Lord ! 

Thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude, 

Fill'd me with an immortal soul, to spring 
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear 

The garments of eternal day, and wing 
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, 
Even to its Source— to Thee — its Author, there. 

O thoughts ineffable ! O visions blessed ! 

Though worthless our conceptions all of thee, 
Yet shall thy shadow'd image fill our breast 

And waft its homage to thy Deity. 
God, thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar, 

Thus seek thy presence, Being wise and good ; 
'Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore ; 
And when the tongue is eloquent no more, 

The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. 



14 



296 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

LESSON CXLII. 
On Legal Reform. — G. C. Verplanck. 

In each and every step of legal reformation, I would 
keep one great principle ever before my eyes. It is to do 
nothing from mere theory or mere guess ; to be guided at 
every step by an enlightened public opinion, by experience 
and evidence of the defects of our law at home, or of the 
advantages of any alteration or modification of the same 
system in use elsewhere. 

Above all, as one not blind to the imperfections of our 
ancient law, not unwilling to amend its errors or defects, 
yet loving and honouring its spirit of freedom, its publicity, 
the republican character of its jury trial, its arbitrations 
and references, its jealous restriction of courts to the pro- 
vince of judges of the law alone, its confining the arbi- 
trary decision of judges even on the law by the authority 
of precedent, its numerous guards for the protection of 
life and liberty — and why should I not also add, its magni- 
ficent and instructive learning, quaint and strange, though 
some of it may be — above all, knowing this law to be, in 
its main and substantial parts, consonant to the usages and 
habits of the mass of our people and wrought into our 
Constitution, statutes, customs, usages, opinions, and very 
language — I would carefully and zealously preserve it as 
the ground- work of all improvements. This was the law 
of our forefathers ; under this we ourselves were born and 
bred. It 4s susceptible of indefinite improvement without 
losing its substantial excellencies. Let us then prune off 
its deformities ; let us remedy its defects, whilst we rever- 
ently guard its substance. 

The wisest and the most efficient reformers, and those 
whose works last the longest, are they, who, like the 
framers of our General and State Constitutions, build on 
the old foundations. Their works have not the systemati- 
cal beauty of the wholesale reformer, but they prove far 
more convenient for all the varied uses of society. 

A great German poet, (Schiller,) has embodied this truth 
in noble and philosophical imagery. The path of mere 
power, to its object, says he, is that of the cannon ball, di- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION, 297 

rect and rapid, but destroying everything in its course, and 
destructive even to the end it reaches. Not so the road of 
human usages, which is beaten by the old intercourse of 
life ; that path winds this way and that, along the river or 
around the orchard, and securely though slowly, arrives at 
last at its destined end. " That," says he, " is the road on 
which blessings travel." 

The same general truth may be often seen exemplified 
in our republican legislation. There is a legislation, alter- 
ing, reforming, innovating ; but all upon deliberate inves- 
tigation, slow and cautious inquiry, and consultation in 
every quarter where light and knowledge may be gained. 
There is also the legislation of mere theory — sometimes 
the theory of the closet speculative reasoner — much of- 
tener that of another sort of theorist, who calls himself a 
practical man, because he infers his hasty general rules 
from his own narrow single experience — (narrow, because 
single) — as a judge, a lawyer, or a legislator. Such legisla- 
tion, when it prescribes great and permanent rules of ac- 
tion, resembles the rail road of the half learned engineer, 
who runs it straight to its ultimate end over mountain and 
valley, through forest and morass. Disregarding alike the 
impediments of nature and the usages and the wants of 
human dealings, he attains his end by the shortest way, but 
at an immense expense, with an utter disregard of private 
rights and public convenience. 

A wiser and a "better way is that which, in adopting the 
improvements of modern science, applies them skilfully 
in the direction that experience has found to be the most 
easy, or which time, or custom, or even accident has macle 
familiar, and therefore convenient. That road winds round 
the mountain and skirts the morass, turns off to the village 
or the landing-place, respects the homestead and the gar- 
den, and even the old hereditary trees of the neighbour- 
hood, and all the sacred rights of property. This is the 
road on which human life moves easily and happily — upon 
which " blessings come and go." 

Suck may we make that road on which justice shall take 
its regular and beneficent circuit throughout our land — 
such is the character we may give to our jurisprudence, if 
we approach the hallowed task of legal reform in the right 
spirit — if we approach it, not rashly but reverently — with- 
i5 



298 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

out pride or prejudice — free alike from the prejudice that 
clings to every thing that is old, and turns away from all im- 
provement ; and from the pride of opinion, that, wrapped 
in fancied wisdom, disdains to profit either by the experi- 
ence of our own times or the recorded knowledge of past 
generations. 



LESSON CXLIII. 
A Satire on Duelling. — Sheridan. 

Sir Lucius 0' Trigger. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to em- 
brace you. 

Mr. Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hand. 

Sir L. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so sud- 
denly to Bath ? 

Acres. I have been very ill-used, Sir Lucius. I don't 
choose to mention names, but look on me as a very ill-used 
gentleman. 

Sir L. Pray, what is the case 1 — I ask no names. 

Acres. Mark me, Sir Lucius : I fall as deep as need be 
in love with a young lady — her friends take my part — I 
follow her to Bath — send word of my arrival ; and receive 
answer, that the lady is to be otherwise disposed of. This, 
Sir Lucius, I call being ill-used. 

Sir L. Very ill, upon my conscience ! — Pray, can you 
divine the cause of it ] 

Acres. Why, here's the matter ; she has another lover, 
one Beverley, who, I am told, is now in Bath. — Odds slan- 
ders and lies ! he must be at the bottom of it. 

Sir L. A rival in the case, is there ] — and you think he 
has supplanted you unfairly ] 

Acres. Unfairly ! to be sure he has. He never could 
have done it fairly. 

Sir L. Then sure you know what is to be done ! 

Acres. Not I, upon my soul ! 

Sir L. We wear no swords here, but you understand 
me? 

Acres. What ! fight him ! 

Sir L. Ay, to be sure : what can I mean else ? 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 299 

Acres. But he lias given me no provocation. 

Sir L. Now, I think he has given you the greatest provo- 
cation in the world. Can a man commit a more heinous 
offence against another, than to fall in love with the same 
woman ? O, by my soul, it is the most unpardonable 
breach of friendship. 

Acres. Breach of friendship ! Ay, ay ; but I have no ac- 
quaintance with this man. I never saw him in my life. 

Sir L. That's no argument at all — he has the less right 
then to take such a liberty. 

Acres. That's true ! — I grow full of anger, Sir Lucius ! 
I lire apace ! odds hilts and blades ! I find a man may have 
a deal of valour in him, and not know it ! But couldn't I 
contrive to have a little right on my side ] 

Sir L. What signifies right when your honour is con- 
cerned ] do you think Achilles, or my little Alexander the 
Great, ever inquired w^here the right lay ? No, by my 
soul, they drew their broad swords, and left the lazy sons 
of peace to settle the justice of it. 

Acres. Your words are a grenadier's march to my heart ! 
I believe courage must be catching ! I certainly do feel a 
kind of valour arising, as it were — a kind of courage, as I 
may say — odds flints, pans, and triggers ! I'll challenge him 
directly. 

Sir L. Ah, my little friend ! if I had Blunderbus Hall 
here — I could show you a range of ancestry, in the O' Trig- 
ger line, that would furnish the New Room, every one of 
whom had killed his man ! For though the mansion-house 
and dirty acres have slipped through my fingers, I thank 
Heaven, our honour and the family pictures are as fresh as 
ever. 

Acres. O, Sir Lucius, I have had ancestors too ! — every 
man of them colonel or captain in the militia ! — odds balls 
and barrels ! Say no more — I'm braced for it. — The 
thunder of your words has soured the milk of human 
kindness in my breast ! — Zounds ! as the man in the play 
says, " I could do such deeds" 

Sir L. Come, come, there must be no passion at all in 
the case — these things should always be done civilly. 

Acres. I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius — I must be in 
a rage — Dear Sir Lucius, let me be in a rage, if you love 
me.— -Come, here's pen and paper. (Sits down to write.) 
h6 



300 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

I would the ink were red ! Indite, I say, indite ! — How 
shall I begin 1 Odds bullets and blades ! Til write a good 
bold hand, however. 

Sir L. Pray, compose yourself. 

Acres. Come — now, shall I begin with an oath 1 Do, 
Sir Lucius, let me begin with an oath ] 

Sir L. Pho, pho ! do the thing decently, and like a 
Christian. Begin now — Sir 

Acres. That's too civil by half. 

Sir L. To prevent the confusion that might arise 

Acres. Well 



Sir L. From our both addressing the same lady- 



Acres. Ay, there's the reason — same lady — Well 

Sir L. I shall expect the honour of your company 

Acres. Zounds ! I'm not asking him to dinner ! 

Sir L. Pray, be easy. 

Acres. Well, then, honour of your company 

Sir L. To settle our pretensions 

Acres. Well 

Sir L. Let me see — ay, King's-Mead Fields will do — in 
King's-Mead Fields. 

Acres. So, that's done. — Well, I'll fold it up presently ; 
.my own crest, a hand and dagger, shall be the seal. 

Sir L. You see, now, this little explanation will put a 
stop at once to all confusion or misunderstanding that might 
arise between you. 

Acres. Ay, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding. 

Sir L. Now, I'll leave you to fix your own time. — Take 
my advice, and you'll decide it this evening, if you can ; 
then, let the worst come of it, 'twill be off your mind to- 
morrow. 

Acres. Very true. 

Sir L. So I shall see nothing more of you, unless it be 
by letter, till the evening — I would do myself the honour to 
carry your message ; but, to tell you a secret, I believe I 
shall have just such another affair on my own hands. 
There is a gay Captain here who put a jest on me lately at 
the expense of my country, and I only want to fall in with 
that gentleman to call him out. 

Acres. By my valour, I should like to see you fight first ! 
Odds life, I should like to see you kill him, if it was only to 
get a little lesson ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 301 

Sir L. I shall be very proud of instructing you. — Well, 

for the present but remember now, when you meet 

your antagonist, do every thing in a mild and agreeable 
manner. — Let your courage be as keen, but at the same 
time as polished as your sword. [Exeunt severally. 



LESSON CXLIV. 
Quarrel Scene, from Douglas. — Rev. John Home. 

CrLENALVON AND NoRVAL. 

GlMn. Has Norval seen the troops ] 

Nor. The setting sun, 
With yellow radiance, lightened all the vale ; 
And, as the warriors moved, each polished helm, 
Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beams. 
The hill they climbed : and, halting at its top, 
Of more than mortal size, towering, they seemed 
An host angelic, clad in burning arms. 

Glen. Thou talk'st it well ! no leader of our host, 
In sounds more lofty speaks of glorious war. 

Nor. If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name, 
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty, 
Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration 
Vents itself freely ; since, no part, is mine, 
Of praise, pertaining to the great in arms. 

Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir! Your martial 
deeds, 
Have ranked you with the great : but mark me, Norval ; 
Lord Randolph's favour, now exalts your youth, 
Above his veterans of famous service. 
Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you : 
Give them all honour ; seem not to command ; 
Else, they will scarcely brook your late-sprung pow'r, 
Which, nor alliance props, nor birth adorns. 

Nor. Sir ! — I have been accustomed, all my days, 
To hear and speak the plain and simple truth ; 
And though I have been told, that there are men, 
Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn ; 
Yet, in such language I am little skilled. 



302 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel, — 
Although it sounded harshly. Why remind 
Me of my birth obscure ] Why slur my power 
With such contemptuous terms ? 

Glen. I did not mean 
To gall your pride, which now, I see, is great. 

Nor. My pride? 

Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper ; 
Your pride's excessive ! yet, for Randolph's sake, 
I will not leave you to its rash direction. 
If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men, 
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn ! 

Nor. A shepherd's scorn ! 

Glen. Yes ; — if you presume # 

To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes, 
As if you took the measure of their minds, 
And said, in secret, — " You are no match for me," 
What will become of you ] 

Nor. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? 

Glen. Ha! — dost thou threaten me ? 

Nor. Didst thou not hear % 

Glen. Unwillingly I did ; a nobler foe, 
Had not been questioned thus. But such as thou ! 

Nor. Whom dost thou think me ? 

Glen. Norval. 

Nor. So I am ; 
And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes ? 

Glen. A peasant's son, — a wandering beggar boy ; 
At best, no more, even if he speak the truth. 

Nor. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth % 

Glen. Thy truth ! Thou'rt all a lie, and false as fiends, 
Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph. 

Nor. If I were chained, — unarmed, or bed-rid old, 
Perhaps I might revile ; but as I am, 
I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval, 
Is of a race, who strive not but with deeds! 
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valour, 
And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword, 
I'd tell thee what thou art 1 know thee well. 

Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalvon, born to rule 
Ten thousand slaves like thee % 

Nor. Villain ! — no more ; — 



pieces for Reading and declamation. 303 

Draw, and defend thy life, (they draw their swords.) I did 

design, 
To have defied thee in another cause ; 
But Heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee. 
Now, for my own, and Lady Randolph's wrongs ! — 

(They fight.) 

Enter Lord Randolph. 

Lord Randolph. Hold ! — I command you both ; — 
The man that stirs, makes me his foe. 

Nor. Another voice than thine, 
That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. 

Glen. Hearbim, my lord, he's wondrous condescending! 
Mark the humility of shepherd Norval ! 

Nor. Now you may scoff in safety. — 

(Both sheathe their swords.) 

Lord Randolph. Speak not thus, 
Taunting each other ; but unfold to me 
The cause of quarrel. ; then I'll judge betwixt you. 

Nor. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much, 
My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment. 
I blush to speak — I will not — cannot speak 
The opprobrious words, that I from him have borne* 
To the liege lord of my dear native land, 
I owe a subject's homage ; but, even him, 
And his high arbitration I'd reject ! 
Within my bosom reigns another lord, 
Honour — sole judge, and umpire of itself. 
If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph, 
Revoke your favours, and let Norval go 
Hence, as he came, — alone — but not dishonoured. 

Lord R. Thus far, I'll mediate with impartial voice: 
The ancient foe of Caledonia's land, 
Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields. 
Suspend your purpose, till your country's arms, 
Repel the bold invader; then decide 
The private quarrel. 

Glen. I agree to this. 

Nor. And I do. Exit Randolph, 

Glen. Norval, 
Let not our variance mar the social hour, 
Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph ; 



304 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate, 

Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy brow, 

Nor, let our strife disturb the gentle dame. 

Nor. Think not so lightly, Sir, of my resentment ; 
When we contend again, our strife is mortal. 



LESSON CXLV. 

The Child of Earth. — Caroline Norton. 

Fainter her slow step falls from day to day, 

Death's hand is heavy on her darkening brow, 
Yet doth she fondly cling to life, and say — 

" I am content to die, — but Oh ! not now ! — 
Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring 

Make the warm air such luxury to breathe ; 
Not while the birds such lays of gladness sing ; 

Not while bright flow'rs around my footsteps wreathe— 
Spare me, great God ! lift up my drooping brow ; 
I am content to die, — but, Oh! not now V* 

The spring hath ripen' d into summer time ; 

The season's viewless boundary is past ; 
The glorious sun hath reach'd his burning prime ; 

Oh ! must this glimpse of beauty be the last ? 
" Let me not perish while o'er land and sea, 

With silent steps the Lord of light moves on ; 
Not while the murmur of the mountain bee 

Greets my dull ear with music in its tone ! 
Pale sickness dims my eye and clouds my brow ; 
I am content to die r — but, Oh! not now !" 

Summer is gone ; and autumn's soberer hues 

Tint the ripe fruits, and gild the waving corn ; 
The huntsman swift the flying game pursues, 

Shouts the halloo ! and winds the eager horn. 
" Spare me awhile, to wander forth and gaze 

On the broad meadows, and the quiet stream ; 
To watch in silence while the evening rays 

Slant through the fading trees with ruddy gleam ! 
Cooler the breezes play around my brow ; 
I am content to die, — but, Oh ! not now !" 



PIECES FOR BEADING AND DECLAMATION. 305 

The bleak wind whistles : snow-showers, far and near, 

Drift without echo to the whitening ground : 
Autumn hath pass'd away ; and, cold and drear, 

Winter stalks on with frozen mantle bound : 
Yet still that prayer ascends : " Oh ! laughingly 

My little brothers round the warm hearth crowd ; 
Our home-fire blazes broad, and bright, and high, 

And the roof rings with voices light and loud : 
Spare me awhile ! raise up my drooping brow ! 
I am content to die, — but, Oh! not now !" 

The spring is come again — the joyful spring ! 

Again the banks with clustering flowers are spread ; 
The wild bird dips upon its wanton wing : — 

The child of earth is number'd with the dead ! 
" Thee never more the sunshine shall awake, 

Beaming all redly through the lattice-pane; 
The steps of friends thy slumber may not break, 

Nor fond familiar voice arouse again ! 
Death's silent shadow veils thy darken'd brow : 
Why didst thou linger? — thou art happier now !" 



LESSON CXLVL 

The Soul's Glimpses of Immortality* — Jane Taylor, 

The soul, at times, in silence of the night, 
Has flashes — transient intervals of light ; 
When things to come, without a shade of doubt, 
In dread reality stand fully out. 
Those lucid moments suddenly present 
Glances of truth, as though the heavens were rent; 
And, through the chasm of celestial light, 
The future breaks upon the startled sight. 
Life's vain pursuits, and time's advancing pace, 
Appear with death-bed clearness, face to face ; 
And immortality's expanse sublime 
In just proportion to the speck of time ! 
4 Whilst death, uprising from the silent shade, 
Shows his dark outline, ere the vision fade ! 



306 THE ELOCUTIONIST* 

In strong relief, against the blazing sky, 
Appears the shadow, as it passes by ; 
And, though o'erwheiming to the dazzled brain, 
These are the moments when the mind is sane. 



LESSON CXLVIL 
Mienzi's Address to the Men of Rome. — -Miss Mitford. 

Friends, 
I come not here to talk. Ye know too well ■ 
The story of our thraldom :— we are slaves ! 
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 
A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 
Falls on a slave ; — not such as, swept along 
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 
To crimson glory and undying fame ; 
But base, ignoble slaves— slaves to a horde 
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords, 
Rich in some dozen paltry villages — 
Strong in some hundred spearmen — only great 
In that strange spell, a name. Each hour, dark fraud, 
Or open rapine, or protected murder, 
Cries out against them. But this very day, 
An honest man, my neighbour— there he stands— 
Was struck— struck like a dog, by one who wore 
The badge of Ursini ; because, forsooth, 
He tossed not high his ready cap in air, 
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, 
At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men, 
And suffer such dishonour ] men, and wash not 
The stain away in blood 1 Such shames are common. 

I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to you, 
I had a brother once, a gracious boy, 
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, 
Of sweet and quiet joy ; there was the look 
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give 
To the beloved disciple. How I loved 
That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, 
Brother at once and son ! He left my side, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 307 

A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile 

Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour, 

The pretty, harmless boy, was slain ! I saw 

The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 

For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans : rouse, ye slaves ! 

Have ye brave sons 1 Look, in the next fierce brawl, 

To see them die. Have ye daughters fair ] Look 

To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 

Dishonoured ; and, if ye dare call for justice, 

Be answered by the lash. Yet this is Rome, 

That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne 

Of beauty, ruled the world ! Yet we are Romans ! 

Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 

Was greater than a king ! And once, again,™ 

Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 

Of either Brutus !« — once again, I swear, 

The eternal city shall be free ! her sons 

Shall walk with princes ! 



LESSON CXLVIIL 

The Musing Ship. — Epes Sargent. 

God speed the noble President ! A gallant boat is she, 
As ever enter'd harbour, or cross'd a stormy sea : 
Like some majestic castle she floats upon the stream; 
The good ships moor'd beside her, like pigmy shallops 
seem! 

How will her mighty bulwarks the dashing surges brave ! 
How will her iron sinews make way 'gainst wind and 

wave ! 
Farewell, thou stately vessel ! Ye voyagers, farewell ! 
Securely on that deck shall ye the tempest's shock repel. 

The stately vessel left us in all her bold array ; 
A glorious sight, O landsmen ! as she glided down our bay 5 
Her flags were waving joyously, and, from her ribs of oak, 
" Farewell" to all the city, her guns in thunder spoke. 



308 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Flee, on thy vapoury pinions ! ba,ck, back to England flee ! 
Where patient watchers by the strand have waited long for 

thee ; 
Where kindred hearts are beating to welcome home thy 

crew, 
And tearful eyes gaze constantly across the waters blue ! 

Alas, ye watchers by the strand ! weeks, months have 

roll'd away, 
But where — where is the President ] and why is this delay ? 
Return, pale mourners, to your homes ! ye gaze, and gaze 

in vain : 
O, never shall that pennon'd mast salute your eyes again ! 

And now our hopes, like morning stars, have, one by one, 

gone out; 
And mute despair subdues at length the agony of doubt; 
But still Affection lifts the torch by night along the shore, 
And lingers by the surf-beat rocks, to marvel, to deplore ! 

In dreams I see the fated ship torn by the northern blast; 
About her tempest-riven track, the white fog gathers fast ; 
When lo ! above the swathing mist their heads the ice- 
bergs lift, 
In lucent grandeur to the clouds — vast continents adrift ! 

One mingled shriek of awe goes up at that stupendous 
sight ; 

Now, helmsman, for a hundred lives, O guide the helm 
aright ! 

Vain prayer ! she strikes ! and thundering down, the ava- 
lanches fall ; 

Crush'd, whelrn'd, the stately vessel sinks — the cold sea 
covers all ! 

Anon, unresting fancy holds a direr scene to view ; 

The burning ship, the fragile raft, the pale and dying crew ! 

Ah me ! was such their maddening fate upon the billowy 

brine ] 
Give up, remorseless Ocean ! a relic and a sign ! 

No answer cometh from the deep to tell the tale we dread : 
No messenger of weal or woe returneth from the dead : 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 309 

But Hope, through tears, looks up and sees, from earthly 

haven driven, 
The lost ones meet in fairer realms, where storms reach 

not — in Heaven ! 



LESSON CXLIX. 

Napoleon and the Britisli Sailor. — Campbell, 

I love contemplating apart 

From all his homicidal story, 
The traits that soften to our heart 

Napoleon's glory. 

'Twas when his banner at Boulogne 
Arm'd in our island every freeman, 

His navy chanced to capture one 
Poor British seaman. 

They suffered him, — I know not how, 
Unprisoned on the shore to roam, 

And aye was bent his youthful brow 
On England's home. 

His eye, methinks, pursued the flight 
Of birds to Britain half way over, 

With envy : they could reach the white 
Dear cliffs of Dover ! 

A stormy midnight watch he thought 

Than this sojourn would have been dearer, 

If but the storm the vessel brought 
To England nearer ! 

At last, when care had banished sleep, 

He saw, one morning — dreaming — doating, 

An empty hogshead on the deep 
Come shoreward floating ! 

He hid it in a cave, and wrought 

The live-long day — laborious, lurking, 

Until he launched a tiny boat 
By mighty working I 



310 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing beyond 
Description! such a wretched wherry, 

Perhaps, ne'er ventured on a pond, 
Or cross' d a ferry. 

For ploughing in the salt sea field, — 

'Twould make the very boldest shudder, — 

Untarr'd — uncompass'd — and unkeeled — 
No sail — no rudder ! 

From neighbouring woods he interlaced 
His sorry skiff with wattled willows, 

And, thus equipped, he would have passed 
The foaming billows. 

The French guard caught him on the beach, 
His little argus sorely jeering, 

Till tidings of him came to reach 
Napoleon's hearing. 

With folded arms Napoleon stood, 
Serene alike in peace or danger, 

And, in his wonted attitude, 
Addressed the stranger : 

" Rash youth, that wouldst that channel pass, 
With twigs and staves so rudely fashion'd, 

Thy heart with some sweet English lass 
Must be impassioned." 

" I have no sweetheart," said the lad ; 

" But — absent, years, from one another, 
Great was the longing that I had 

To see my mother." 

" And so thou shalt !" Napoleon said ; 

" You have my favour justly won : 
A noble mother must have bred 

So brave a son !" 

He gave the tar a piece of gold, 

And, with a flag of truce, commanded 

He should be shipped to England Old, 
And safely landed. 



PIECES FOR HEADING AND DECLAMATION. 311 

Our sailor oft could scarcely shift 

To find a dinner plain and hearty ; 
But never changed the coin and gift 

Of Bonaparte. 



LESSON CL. 
From the Tragedy of " Velasco." — Epes Sargent* 

Gonzalez. Sir, a word with you. 

De Lerma. I am a listener — an impatient one — 
'Twere best that this encounter should be brief. 

Gon. This haughtiness ! My lord, the king, 'tis said, 
Refuses to admit the Emperor's claim. 

De Ler. Thank heaven the king's no recreant, no cow- 
ard, 
But a Castilian, heart and hand, my lord : 
Would I might say the same of all his subjects ! 

Gon. Throw' st thou the taunt on me ? 

De Ler. Wherefore this rage, 
If thou art innocent % 

Gon. De Lerma! Dotard! 

(Half unsheaths his sword, but instantly dashes it into the 

scabbard.) 
No, no ! thou'rt old and feeble ; — and our children — 
Oh ! do not tamper with my desperation ! 
(In a sudden hurst of passion.) Retract what thou hast 
said! 

De Ler. Not, while the proofs 
Appear even now in all thy looks and actions. 

Gon. 'Tis false ! Thou urgest me to frenzy — thus ! 
(Strikes him.) It will find vent ! 

De Ler. A blow ! dishonour'd ! struck ! 
(Draws.) Defend thyself, ere I commit a murder. 

Gon. With thee I'll not contend : thy arm is nerveless. 
The odds are too unequal. 

De Ler. Then I rush 
Upon thee as thou art. 

(As De Lerma rushes upon him, Gonzalez wrests away 
his sword, and throws it upon the ground.) 



312 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Gon. I spare thy life. 

De Ler. Oh ! spare it not, if mercy thou wouldst show, 
Thou givest me back only what thou hast made 
A burthen, a disgrace, a misery ! 
It is a gift, for which I cannot thank thee. 

Gon. Keep it, my lord ; and let this lesson teach, 
What thy gray hairs have fail'd to bring thee — prudence. 

[Exit. 

De Ler. ( Taking up his sword.) Thou treacherous steel ! 
art thou the same, alas ! 
Of yore so crimson' d in the Moorish wars i 
Methinks there should have been a soul in thee, 
The soul of victories and great achievements, 
To form a living instrument of vengeance, 
And, in the weakness of thy master's arm, 
To leap spontaneous to his honour's rescue. 
Go ! 'tis a mockery to wear thee now. 

[ Throws down his sword. 
Struck like a menial ! buffeted ! degraded ! 
And baffled in my impotent attack ! 

Fate ! O Time ! Why, when ye took away 
From this right arm its cunning and its strength, 
Its power to shield from wrong, or to redress, 
Did ye not pluck from out this swelling heart 
Its torturing sense of insult and of shame ? 

1 am sunk lower than the lowest wretch ! 

Oh ! that the earth might hide me ! that I might 
Sink fathoms deep beneath its peaceful breast ! 

[Retires up the stage. 
(Enter Velasco.) 

Vel. The peerless Izidora ! how my thoughts, 
Swept by the grateful memory of her love, 
Still bend to her like flowers before the breeze ! 
They paint her image on vacuity — 
They make the air melodious with her voice ! 
And she — the idol of my boyhood's dreams — 
Is now mine own betroth'd ! Benignant heavens ! 
The gulf is pass'd, which threaten'd to divide us, 
And the broad Future un obscured expands ! 

De Ler. (advancing.) Oh ! be thy vauntings hush'd ! 

Vel. My father here ! 
There is distraction in thy haggard looks. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 313 

Thou art not well. Let me support thee hence. 

De Ler. It is no corporal ill ! 
Art thou my son ? 

Vel. My father! 

De Ler. In thy feeble childhood, who 
Sustain'd thee, rear'd thee, and protected thee % 

Vel. It was thyself. 

De Ler. And, in thy forward youth, 
Who plumed thy soul for glory's arduous flight ] 
Instructed thee, till in thy martial fame 
Thou didst eclipse thy master ] 

Vel. Thou alone ! 
And in thy waning age, this arm shall be 
Thy shield and thy support! 

De t Ler. Thou art my son ! 
Velasco ! from a haughty ancestry 
We claim descent : whose glory it has been, 
That never one of their illustrious line 
Was tainted with dishonour. Yesterday 
That boast was true — it is no longer true ! 

Vel. No longer true ! Who of our race, my lord, 
Has proved unworthy of the name he bears 1 — 

De Ler. I am that wretch. 

Vel. Thou! father! 

De Ler. Ay. I thought 
Thou wouldst shrink from me as a thing accursed ! 
'Tis right — I taught thee — Thou but mind'st my dictates — 
But do not curse me ; for there was a time, 
When I had fell'd him lifeless at my feet ! 
The will was strong, although the nerveless arm 
Dropp'd palsied to my side. 

Vel. My father ! speak ! 
Explain this mystery. 

De Ler. I have been struck ; 
Degraded by a vile and brutal blow ! 
Oh ! thou art silent. Thou wilt not despise me 1 

Vel. Who was the rash aggressor % He shall die ! 
Nay, 'twas some serf — there's not the gentleman 
In all Castile would lay an unkind hand 
Upon thy feebleness. Then, do not think 
Thyself disgraced, my honourable father. 
Know'st thou th' offender's name % 



31* THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

De Ler. Alas ! no serf, 
No man of low degree has done this deed — 
The aggressor is our equal. 

Vel. Say'st thou so ? 
Then, by my sacred honour, he shall die ! 

De Ler. Thou wilt hold true to that ? 

Vel. Have I not said % 
Were it the king himself, who dared profane 
A single hair upon thy reverend brow, 
I would assail him on his guarded throne, 
And with his life-blood stain the marble floor ! 

De Ler. Thou noble scion of a blighted stock ! 
I yet am strong in thee. Thou shalt avenge 
This ignominious wrong. 

Vel. Who did it 1 Speak ! 

De Ler. Gonzalez did it. 

Vel. No, no, no ! the air 
In fiendish mockery syllabled that name. 
It was a dreadful fantasy ! 
My Lord — 

De Ler. Pedro Gonzalez. 

Vel. Izidora's father ! 

De Ler. Oh ! thou hast other ties ! I did forget. 
Go — thou'rt released. 

Vel. There must be expiation ! 
Oh ! I am very wretched ! But fear not. 
There shall be satisfaction or atonement ! 

De Ler. Thou say'st it. To thy trust I yield mine hon- 
our. [Exit. 

Vel. While the proud bird soar'd to the noonday sun, 
The shaft was sped that dash'd him to the earth ! 
'Twas wing'd by Fate ! 'Tis here ! I cannot shrink 
From the appalling sense that it is real ! 
This throbbing brain, this sick and riven heart, 
These shudders, that convulse my very soul, 
Confirm the dreadful truth. But oh ! to think 
Of all the wretchedness 'twill bring on her, 
Her, whose glad tones and joy-bestowing beauty 
Seem'd doubly glad and beautiful to-day ; 
Whose little plans of happiness — 

Great Heavens ! 
It will affright her reason— drive her mad ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 315 

It must not be ! 

And yet, my father wrong'd, 
Insulted by a blow — the proud old man, 
Who fourscore years has kept his fame unblurr'd, 
Now to be so disgraced, and no redress ! — 
My honour calls ! It drowns all other cries ! 
Love's shrieking woe, and Mercy's pleading voice ! 
Thus, thus ! I cast them off — poor suppliants ! 
And now, Gonzalez ! for revenge and thee ! [Exit. 



LESSON CLL 

Christ Walking on the Water, — Mrs. Hemans. 

Fear was within the tossing bark, 
When stormy winds grew loud, 

And waves came rolling high and dark, 
And the tall mast was bow'd. 

And men stood breathless in their dread, 

And baffled in their skill — 
But one was there, who rose, and said 

To the wild sea — be still ! 

And the wind ceased — it ceased ! — that word 
Pass'd through the gloomy sky ; 

The troubled billows knew their Lord, 
And fell beneath His eye. 

And slumber settled on the deep, 

And silence on the blast ; 
They sank, as flowers that fold to sleep 

When sultry day is past. 

Oh ! thou, that in its wildest hour 

Didst rule the tempest's mood, 
Send thy meek spirit forth in power 

Soft on our souls to brood. 

Thou that didst bow the billow's pride 

Thy mandate to fulfill. 
Oh ! speak to passion's raging tide, 

Speak, and say, Peace, be still I 



316 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 



LESSON CLII. 

Wallenstein's Reflections on hearing of the Death of young 
Piccolomini. — Sc hiller. 

Translated by Coleridge. 

He is gone — is dust ! 

He, the more fortunate ! yea, he hath finished ! 

For him there is no longer any future. 

His life is bright — bright without spot it was, 

And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour 

Knocks at his door with tidings' of mishap. 

Far off is he, above desire and fear; 

No more submitted to the change and chance „ 

Of the unsteady planets. Oh, 'tis well 

With him ! but who knows what the coming hour, 

Veird in thick darkness, brings for us ? 

This anguish will be wearied down, I know ; 
"What pang is permanent with man ? From the highest 
As from the vilest thing of every day, 
He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours 
Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost 
In him. The bloom is vanish' d from my life. 
For Oh ! he stood beside me, like my youth,— 
Transform'd for me the real to a dream, 
Clothing the palpable and the familiar 
With golden exhalations of the dawn ! 
Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, 
The beautiful is vanish'd — and returns not. ' 



LESSON CLIII. 

Farewell to Life. — Korner. 

My deep wound burns ; — my pale lips quake in death ; 

I feel my fainting heart resign its strife, 

And reaching now the limit of my life, 
Lord, to thy will I yield my parting breath ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 317 

Yet many a dream hath charm'd my youthful eye, 
And must life's fairy visions all depart 1 
Oh, surely no ! for all that fired my heart 

To rapture here, shall live with me on high. 

And that fair form that won my earliest vow, 
That my young spirit prized all else above, 
And now adored as freedom, now as love, 

Stands in seraphic guise, before me now ; 
And as my failing senses fade away, 
It beckons me on high, to realms of endless day ! 



LESSON CLIV. 

Tattien's Denunciation of Robespierre. — Coleridge. 

Oppression falls. The traitor stands appaird — 

Guilt's iron fangs en grasp his shrinking soul — 

He hears assembled France denounce his crimes ! 

He sees the mask torn from his secret sins — 

He trembles on the precipice of fate. 

Fall'n, guilty tyrant ! Murder'd by thy rage, 

How many an innocent victim's blood has stain'd 

Fair Freedom's altar ! Sylla-like, thy hand 

Mark'd down the virtuous, that, thy foes removed, 

Perpetual Dictator thou might'st reign, 

And tyrannize o'er France, and call it freedom! 

Long time in timid guilt the traitor plann'd 
His fearful wiles — success embolden'd sin — 
And his stretch' d arm had grasp 'd the diadem 
Ere now, but that the coward's heart recoil'd, 
Lest France, awaked, should rouse her from her dream, 
And call aloud for vengeance. He, like Caesar, 
With rapid step urged on his bold career, 
Even to the summit of ambitious power, 
And deem'd the name of king alone was wanting. 

Was it for this we hurl'd proud Capet down i 
Is it for this we wage eternal war 
Against the tytftnt horde of murderers, 
The crowned vipers, whose pernicious venom 
Infects all Europe ? was it then for this 



318 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

We swore to guard our liberty with life, 

That Robespierre should reign ? The spirit of freedom 

Is not yet sunk so low* The glowing flame 

That animates each honest Frenchman's heart, 

Not yet extinguish'd ! I invoke thy shade, 

Immortal Brutus ! I too wear a dagger ; 

And, if the representatives of France, 

Through fear or favour, should delay the sword 

Of justice, Tallien emulates *hy virtues ; 

Tallien, like Brutus, lifts the avenging arm ; 

Tallien shall save his country ! 



LESSON CLV. 

The Song of the Forge.-** Anon. 

Clang, clang, 

The massive anvils ring : 
Clang, clang, 

A hundred hammers swing ; 
Like the thunder-rattle of a tropic sky, 
The mighty blows still multiply. 

Clang, clang ! 
Say, brothers of the dusky brow, 
What are your strong arms forging now % 

Clang, clang ! — -we forge the coulter now, 
The coulter of the kindly plough ; 

Sweet Mary mother, bless our toil ! 
May its broad furrow still unbind 
To genial rains, to sun and wind, 

The most benignant soil. 

Clang, clang !— our coulter's course shall be 
On many a sweet and sheltered lea ; 

By many a streamlet's silver tide ; 
Amidst the song of morning birds, 
Amidst the low of sauntering herds, 
Amidst soft breezes which do stray 
Through woodbine hedges in sweet May, 

Along the green hill's side. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 319 

When regal Autumn's bounteous hand 
With wide-spread glory clothes the land, 

When to the valleys from the brow 
Of each resplendent slope is rolled, 
A ruddy stream of living gold, — 

We bless, we bless the plough ! 

Clang, clang ! — again, my mates, what glows 
Beneath the hammer's potent blows 1 
Clink, clank ! — we forge the giant chain, 
Which bears the gallant vessel's strain 

'Midst stormy winds and adverse tides ; 
Secured by this, the good ship braves 
The rocky roadstead, and the waves 

Which thunder on her sides. 

Anxious no more, the merchant sees 
The mist drive dark before the breeze, 

The storm-cloud on the hill ; 
Calmly he rests, though far away, 
In boisterous climes, his vessels lay, 

Reliant on our skill. 

Say, on what sands these links shall sleep, 
Fathoms beneath the solemn deep : 
By Afric's pestilential shore, 
By many an iceberg, lone and hoar, 
By many a palmy western isle, 
Basking in Spring's perpetual smile ; 
By stormy Labrador. 

Say, shall they feel the vessel reel, 
When to the battery's deadly peal 

The crashing broadside makes reply ; 
Or else, as at the glorious Nile, 
Hold grappling ships, that strive the while 

For death or victory ! 

Hurrah ! — cling, clang ! — once more, what glows, 

Dark brothers of the forge, beneath 
The iron tempest of your blows, 

The furnace's red breath 1 



320 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

Clang, clang ! — a burning shower, clear 
And brilliant, of bright sparks, is poured 

Around and up in the dusky air, 
As our hammers forge the sword. 

The Sword ! — extreme of dread ! yet when 
Upon the freeman's thigh 'tis bound, 

While for his altar and his hearth, 

While for the land that gave him birth, 
The war-drums roll, the trumpets sound, 

How sacred is it then ! 

Whenever for the truth and right 

It flashes in the van of fight ; 

Whether in some wild mountain pass, 

As that where fell Leonidas; 

Or on some sterile plain and stern, 

A Marston, or a Bannockburn ; 

Or amidst crags and bursting rills, 

The Switzer's Alps, grey Tyrol's hills ; 

Or, as when sunk the Armada's pride, 

It gleams above the stormy tide ; 

Still, still, whene'er the battle word 
Is Liberty, — where men do stand 
For justice and their native land, 

Then Heaven bless the sword ! 



LESSON CLVL 

Scene from " Virginius." — J. S. Knowles. 

Lucius. Virginius ! you are wanted 
In Rome. 

Virginius. On what account] 

Luc. On your arrival 
You'll learn. 

Vir. How ! is it something can't be told 
At once ] Speak out, boy ! Ha ! your looks are loaded 
With matter — Is't so heavy that your tongue 
Cannot unburthen them 1 Your brother left 
The camp on duty yesterday — hath aught 
Happen'd to him 1 Did he arrive in safety 1 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 321 

Is he safe ] Is he well ] 

Luc. He is both safe and well. 

Vir. What then ] What then ] tell me the matter, Lu- 
cius. 

Luc. I have said 
It shall be told you. 

Vir. Shall ! I stay not for 
That " shall," unless it be so close at hand 
It stop me not a moment, — 'tis too long 
A coming. Fare you well, my Lucius. 

Luc. Stay, 
Virginius ; hear me then with patience. 

Vir. Well, 
I am patient. 

Luc. Your Virginia 

Vir. Stop, my Lucius i 
I'm cold in every member of my frame ! 
If 'tis prophetic, Lucius, of thy news, 
Give me such token as her tomb would, Lucius — 
I'll bear it better — Silence. 

Luc. You are still 

Vir. I thank thee, Jupiter ! I am still a father ! 

Luc. You are, Virginius. Yet 

Vir. What, is she sick % 

Luc. No. 

Vir. Neither sick nor dead ! All well ! No harm ! 
Nothing amiss ! Each guarded quarter safe, 
That fear may lay him down and sleep, and yet 
This sounding the alarm ! I swear thou tell'st 
A story strangely. Out with't ! I have patience 
For anything, since my Virginia lives, 
And lives in health ! 

Luc. You are required in Rome 
To answer a most novel suit. 

Vir. Whose suit ] 

Luc. The suit of Claudius. 

Vir. Claudius ! 

Luc. Him that's client 
To Appius Claudius, the decemvir. 

Vir. What! 
That pander ! Ha ! Virginia ! You appear 
To couple them. What makes my fair Virginia 



322 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

In company with Claudius ] Innocence 
Beside lasciviousness ! His suit ! What suit ? — 
Answer me quickly ! — Quickly ! lest suspense, 
Beyond what patience can endure, coercing, 
Drive reason from his seat S 
Luc. He has claimed Virginia. 
Vir. Claim'd her ! Claim'd her ! 
On what pretence ? 

Luc. He says she is the child 
Of a slave of his, who sold her to thy wife. 
Vir. Go on : you see I'm calm. 
Luc. He seized her in 
The school, and dragg'd her to the Forum, where 
Appius was giving judgment. 

Vir. Dragg'd her to 
The Forum ! Well ! I told you, Lucius, 
I would be patient. 

Luc. Numitorius there 
Confronted him. 

Vir. Did he not strike him dead ? 
True, true, I know it was in presence of 
The decemvir. O ! had I confronted him ! 
Well ! well ! the issue 1 Well o'erleap all else, 
And light upon the issue. Where is she ? 

Luc. I was despatched to fetch thee, ere I could learn. 
Vir. The claim of Claudius, Appius's client — 
I see the master-cloud — this ragged one, 
That lowers before, moves only in subservience 
To the ascendant of the other — Jove, 
With its own mischief break it and disperse it, 
And that be all the ruin ! Patience ! Prudence ! 
Nay, prudence, but no patience. Come ! a slave 
Dragged through the streets in open day ! My child ! 
My daughter! my fair daughter, in the eyes 
Of Rome ! Oh ! I'll be patient. Come ! the essence 
Of my best blood, in the free common ear 
Condemn'd as vile ! O ! I'll be patient. Come ! 
O ! they shall wonder — I will be so patient. 

[Rushes out, followed by Lucius. 



THE END. 






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